


Eagle Princess

by LenaRoyston



Series: Born from the Ashes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, F/F, F/M, Gen, Good Draco Malfoy, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Hogwarts First Year, Hufflepuff Blaise Zabini, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy Friendship, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Mystery, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Prophecy, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romance, Ron Weasley Bashing, Seer Luna Lovegood, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Politics, Slytherin Pride, Study of Ancient Runes (Harry Potter), Time Travel Fix-It, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-08-06 22:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 129,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16396394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaRoyston/pseuds/LenaRoyston
Summary: Three years have passed since the defeat of the Order of the Phoenix in the Battle of Hogwarts and the Dark Lord reigns supreme.When all hope seems lost Luna Lovegood employs ancient magic in order to catapult Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini and herself back in time. Navigating a world that they had believed lost, our heroes must solve the mysteries surrounding an ancient set of wands, a newly revealed prophecy and uncover the powers dormant in their blood. Oh and by the way, prevent the second wizarding war from happening all over again.Can they find a way to protect the people they love? To band together in the face of evil? To learn how to live again after the horrors they’ve had to witness?





	1. Children of War Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by the famous works of JK Rowling, any recognisable characters, locations etc. are hers.
> 
> I am crossposting with fanfiction.net. There are also some general explanations about some of the tags I’ve used, e.g. the Dumbledore bashing.
> 
> It’s my first attempt at fanfiction so any feedback is highly appreciated and I apologise in advance for any grammatical errors. Unfortunately English isn’t my native language.
> 
> My aim would be to update every two weeks on sunday, however I am fairly new to this so I’ll just wait and see how this plays out.

Blinding flashes of lightning flitted over the clouded night sky like curses on a battlefield. Thunder exploded in their wake, loud booming sounds against the backdrop of the continuing downpour, heavy raindrops hitting the ornamental glass windows of Malfoy Manor. Unperturbed by the onslaught of the elements, Draco Malfoy was swiftly making his way through the empty corridors of his ancestral seat. Thick bee wax candles were painting long, flickering shadows on the walls and filled the air with a calming scent, that felt distinctly out of place. A remnant of his mother’s soothing touch, that had outlived her passing.

  
Once, long before the lingering touch of darkness had tainted the rooms and painful memories had begun to lurk behind every corner, Draco had been proud to call this place his home. Not that life at the Manor had been all rainbows and roses before the resurrection of the Dark Lord, but Lucius utter lack of fatherly skills and uh... hands-on approach to punishment had been somewhat bearable as long as his mother had been there to counteract it from time to time.

  
Generations upon generations of Malfoy’s had walked this very halls and Draco knew of least three of his ancestors, who had dedicated their lives solely to the development and strengthening of the protective wards that surrounded the Manor as well as the surrounding grounds. Stories that had turned into legends and myths came to life when one took the time to converse with the portraits lining the walls and ancient magic thrummed through the air like the song of a battle drum. Promising strength and protection to those of Malfoy blood and woe and heartbreak to their enemies.

  
Unfortunately any sense of safety and comfort Draco might have previously derived from that knowledge, had been shattered on the day the Dark Lord had chosen his home as future residence. Lucius, faithful lapdog that he was, had allowed his master entrance and thereby single handedly destroyed any protection Draco and his mother might have been able to claim, turning them from powerful pureblood nobility into helpless hostages in their own home.

  
Whenever Draco visited the Manor, he couldn’t help but ask himself if Lucius had even an inkling, how much his actions that day had destroyed. Did he realise how deeply the strength of their ancestral magic, magic that originated in the desire to protect the Malfoy family at any cost, was intertwined with the well being of the living family members? Was he able to feel how the former strength slowly withered away, as he allowed his wife, the reigning Lady of the Manor, to suffer insult and injury at her sisters hands? As he ordered his one and only heir to accept a brand of eternal servitude? Could Lucius feel how the magic flared up in helpless protest, when his only son’s chest was torn apart, deadly venom cursing through his veins, as he, the self proclaimed pater familias, stood by and watched?

  
Century old magic reduced to a faint shadow of its former glory, its nearly faded hum buried deep beneath freezing layers of misery and pain. By far not the most egregious crime Lucius had committed at the Dark Lord’s behest, but the loss of the inherent sense of belonging Draco had always associated with the Manor made his ongoing self imposed isolation all the harder to bear.

  
Draco exhaled a pained sigh at the thought of his friends, shortly before he turned around the last corner into the corridor that would lead him to the drawing room. Unsurprisingly for a former Slytherin ruler, he had never had a shortage of political affiliates during his school years. Crabbe and Goyle, whose parents had both been business associates of Lucius, were a prime example. Since financial incentives didn’t provide the most fertile grounds for loyalty and true friendship, there were precious few, who Draco considered to be more than tentative allies and by this point in time the majority of them had fled the country.

  
Sure, he had felt sad when they had left. One by one, taking an illegal portkey to the US. But whatever sorrow the loss of his childhood friends had given him, paled in comparison to the overwhelming relief that filled his heart. This brave new world of the Dark Lord’s creation was no place for young women like Pansy and the Greengrass sisters, where their only allowed perspective in live was the fate of a glorified broodmare. And whilst Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were both still in Britain, Draco hadn’t had a real conversation with either of them in almost two years.

  
The Greengrass sisters had been the first to go, since their father hadn’t been prepared to sacrifice the happiness of his daughters in order to scurry favour with the new regime. Young pureblood brides of noble breeding were in exceedingly high demand, even before the war had decimated their already low numbers even further. In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts the Dark Lord had declared motherhood the highest honour a pureblood witch could aspire to. Furthermore he had stressed the necessity of immediate marriages so that the witches in question could enter their husbands protection as fast as possible. A thinly veiled threat, especially for Slytherin standards, which was followed by a veritable marriage boom amongst the pureblooded elite.

_  
‘Pureblooded.’_ Draco sneered inwardly _. ‘Purity’ is definitely the last word that comes to mind when you think about the consequences of the Dark Lord’s little speech._

  
Children as young as fourteen got married to influential Death Eaters, twice or thrice their age, whilst most parents bit their tongue and accepted their offers, since the only available alternative was to face the Dark Lord’s wrath. In sixteen year old Astoria’s case Draco had overheard Rosier proclaim his interest in her, during a Death Eater meeting, which had immediately spurred him into action. At first informing Daphne of the ‘happy’ news regarding her sister and then offering to get both of them out of the country as fast as possible.

  
In contrast to her sister, Daphne had already received an offer from Blaise Zabini, however it was more an act of brotherly protection than a romantic proposal. Blaise and Theo went way back and Daphne had carried a torch for Pansy since third grade. In a society that insisted on the conservative interpretation of marriage as a means to produce children, neither of them could have ever hoped to be with the person they desired.

  
However, when the chance of escape had presented itself, Daphne had jumped at the opportunity, explaining to Blaise that both of them deserved better than a life long commitment borne out of convenience and a week later the whole Greengrass family had taken an illegal portkey to the USA, one of the few remaining possibilities to smuggle people out of Britain after the Dark Lord had shut down the borders. Interestingly Pansy had taken the news of their disappearance way harder than Blaise and she followed them only a year later to the States.

  
Her own marriage contract with Draco had protected her from the fate the Greengrass sisters would have faced, however neither him nor Pansy had been too enthusiastic about going through with it. With the noteworthy exception of a single unfulfilling kiss after their disastrous Yule ball date, their relationship dynamic had never evolved beyond the boundaries of mutual friendship and support. They acted more along the lines of annoying little sister and overprotective brother than two teenagers with an impending betrothal contract, which resulted in way more fights than could be considered healthy for any marriage.

  
In addition, Pansy was wicked smart, resigning herself to a life as trophy wife and mother, didn’t hold much of an appeal to her. Especially at the side of a husband, who had become less and less emotionally available as the years went on. Or at least that’s what she had explained to Draco at the time, accompanied with a nagging monologue that it was quite pathetic to be hung up on the same witch even after four years and unacceptable not to disclose her identity to his best friend. Of course Draco hadn’t told her. Instead he had distracted her with a quip about Blaise being his best mate, which had sent Pansy into a pouting fit of epic proportions. Thinking about her indignant shrieks never failed to bring a small smirk to his lips.

  
Organising a portkey had already gotten more difficult by the time Pansy had confessed her desire to leave Britain, which was why it had taken him almost a month to get hold of one. There were some tears on Pansy’s part when they had said their good byes and maybe, not that he would ever admit as much, but his eyes might have prickled a teensy tiny bit with unshed tears. They would have made a rotten pair, but he loved her in his own way. Sometimes he liked to imagine the surprised look in her eyes, when she realised that the portkey hadn’t delivered her to France as they had agreed to. Or the small smirk, when she found the crumpled piece of paper with Daphne’s last known address. They had never discussed it per se, but Draco knew that Daphne’s little crush wasn’t as unrequited as Pansy had always made it out to be.

  
After Pansy had finally left the country there were only Blaise and Theo left, and if it had been Draco’s decision, he would have sent both of them straight after the others. However, barely a month had passed since Pansy’s departure, before the Dark Lord had managed to erect a new barrier around the UK, adding to the already installed anti apparition wards and capped floo network connections, which made every mode of unregistered international magical travel virtually impossible. Some desperate souls even tried their luck with muggle transportation, but not even those remained free from Death Eater influence.

  
From then on things had only gotten more dire. One year post Hogwarts the Order of the Phoenix, the last known bastion of resistance, had already lacked the numbers to pose any serious threat. Not only had they struggled to recruit any new members, whilst the Death Eaters had no scruple to enlist less than willing participants as a first line of attack. Basically curse fodder, pressed into the Dark Army by threats and coercion. But they also had difficulties to keep up morale amongst established members. Many had fled to France or the States immediately after the battle, either joining the local movements pressing MACUSA and the French ministry for action, or, in a majority of cases disappearing from the political map altogether. Britain had been abandoned as a lost cause.

  
The remaining few, hardly more than fifty witches and wizards, who had been either too brave or too stupid to save their own skin, had to spend their lives on the run. By now, three years post battle, Draco only knew of a handful survivors that had managed to survive the constant man hunts as well as made it through without getting sold out by one of their compatriots. Years of being hunted and the increasing hopelessness had turned trust into an exceedingly rare and occasionally dangerous commodity. One of the factors that made the already precarious balance act Draco was pulling off, more dangerous than it had to be.

  
Nevertheless he had, of course, considered to explain the situation to his friends. If not admitting everything to them, then at least giving them a few backhanded hints. Neither Blaise nor Theo would ever willingly betray his trust, that much he was sure of and maybe they would have reconsidered their foolhardy decision to stay in Britain. However, after many sleepless nights spent frustratedly pacing in the confines of his flat, in the end caution had won out, and over the course of the last two years Draco had slowly withdrawn from both of them, had tried to avoid them as much as possible. It hurt terribly, especially since both of them didn’t take too kindly to his abrupt coldness, but in case Draco was discovered, both of them could at least claim plausible deniability.

  
Honest friendships, or really any form of meaningful relationships, had long turned into liabilities he simply couldn’t afford. They were nothing more than weaknesses, waiting to be exploited as his godfather had never failed to remind him when he had still been alive. A valuable lesson in this shattered ghost of a world, where madness ruled almost uncontested and the fire of hope was reduced to a flickering spark in the darkness, threatening to die out at any given minute, its light buried beneath years of suffering, pain, loss and misery.

  
So what, if Draco sometimes felt like he might collapse under the heavy weight of solitude and self loathing? The semi voluntary estrangement from his former house mates and confidantes, seemed like a small prize to pay, considering it would guarantee their protection, when the filigree web of lies and deceit Draco had spun, inevitably began to unravel. He had enough deaths weighing on his conscience, adding his best mate and his oldest friend to that list was out of the question. Better to err on the side of caution and keep his distance, than endanger them by mere association.

  
It would be difficult to prove anything nefarious when the three of them hadn’t had a decent conversation in almost two years. They probably assumed that Draco had thrown himself into the task of pleasing the Dark Lord. And even if the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth it was better than taking them down with him when his background scheming finally got discovered. The fact that he was still alive, after five years was rather miraculous.

  
Unmistakable whimpers of pain, muffled by the heavy black wood of an imposing door, alerted Draco to the fact that he had reached his destination, a realisation, which made him stiffen in uneasy anticipation. Somehow he had dared to hope, that Bellatrix wouldn’t join them tonight. Flashes of the many tortures he had witnessed were whirling through his mind, while he quickly composed his expression into an unreadable mask.

  
_Some things never get easier._

  
It only took Draco a moment until he felt ready to face the Dark Lord and his deranged aunt, the thundering waterfall that shielded his secrets from unwanted intruders, firmly in place and his face as cold and unforgiving as his hard earned reputation demanded. Rapping his knuckles on the door, the family insignias of his parents houses reflecting the dim torchlight, he listened as the pitiful sounds ceased for a merciful moment of silence, while the cold hiss of the Dark Lord cut through the air like a sizzling curse.

  
“Enter!”

  
Without a seconds hesitation Draco pushed through the door, striding into the room with confident movements, before he lowered his head deeply in the deferential greeting the Dark Lord demanded from his followers. There was a certain routine to their interactions by now, especially during the more informal meetings such as this one, where they discussed the progression of the French invasion, with Bella listening in on occasion. Things were running smoothly on that front, so chances were high, that tonights meeting would be reasonably short.

  
_Hopefully._

  
The picture that presented itself to Draco, upon entering the drawing room was devastatingly familiar. A broken heap of a person, lying on the cold marble floor, writhing in pain as curse after curse collided with the abused body. Voice reduced to hoarse wheezing due to hour long screaming. Blood was spilling on the ground, a pool of scarlet glistening in the eery green light, while the nauseating stench of steel and pain overpowered any other sensations.

  
It pained Draco to think that as a young child, before he had entered Hogwarts, he had bought into Lucius lies, who claimed that the blood of muggles and muggleborns was as muddy as the spiteful slur indicated. Regarding the matter in retrospect Lucius might have done him a favour, however involuntarily, by citing such an easily disproven claim as the basis for their supposed superiority over ‘their kind’. Prejudice never fared well under scrutiny, not when the glaring contradiction stared you directly in the face, whenever a muggleborn got injured at Quidditch. As if Draco had needed any more proof that the notions of blood status were nothing more than a bad joke, after Granger had beat him in every class except potions for six years straight.

  
_Granger._

  
The haunting vision of her wide whiskey coloured eyes, staring pleadingly at him, while his deranged aunt carved that thrice cursed word into her pale skin and Draco was forced to stand by helplessly like the pathetic coward the former Gryffindor Princess already believed him to be, invaded his mind. But it was soon chased away, as cackling laughter rang through the room, the shrill sound bouncing back from the ancient walls. Evidently his arrival wasn’t enough reason for Bellatrix to stop her favourite pastime.

  
_Just as well. I can wait._

  
Whilst Bella kept herself occupied by taunting her newest victim, the Dark Lord was leaning back on the elevated dragon bone throne, situated at the far end of the room. Gleaming eyes watching the whole display with silent satisfaction, seemingly feeding from each new wave of agony that crashed over the helpless victim. Witnessing their toxic dynamic could have been intriguing if their all encompassing madness hadn’t threatened to tear the world apart in their never sated thirst for power. Foolish delusions of grandeur meeting the darkest recesses of a mind bereft of sanity and synergising into a dark maelstrom of destruction.

  
_The Dark Lord and his devoted Lady. Ultimately united in their insanity._

  
Draco had to bite back the urge to cringe violently, as memories of their binding ceremony began to resurface. Even if it had been a purely political move, designed to quiet the quite accurate rumours perpetrated by the order that the Dark Lord was nothing but a halfblood upstart using the platform of blood purity for his own nefarious interests, as well as quell the dissent against the repopulation effort. The mere idea that those two might actually consider to procreate with each other was a succinctly terrifying prospect.

  
_Ugh. Thanks, but no thanks._

  
Thankfully, they were already two and a half years into the marriage and pregnancy seemed to be the last thing on Bellatrix’ mind. Instead she had taken Draco under her wings, claiming that as the last remaining descendant of the most ancient and noble House of Black it was his duty to uphold the family honour amongst the Death Eater. Under her tutelage the Malfoy heir had quickly climbed through the ranks, instantly earning a reputation as the legislative and rhetoric mastermind behind the Dark Lord’s political success. Skilfully manipulating public perception through propaganda and well placed misinformation, thusly claiming a position of trust and influence amongst the inner circle. Nowadays there were few, who would be foolish enough to defy him, lest they risk the combined ire of Draco and his aunt and to a lesser extent even the Dark Lord.

  
_Practically the Death Eater equivalent to royalty, Lucius should be so proud of me._

  
A sardonic smirk lurked around the corners of Draco’s lips, before green light flashed and sobering silence descended over the group. Another life lost. Anger and helpless hatred began to boil beneath his calm facade, magnified by Draco’s accumulated self loathing for his own continued complicity in the atrocious acts committed right in front of him. Allowing some of his distaste to show on his face, the young wizard stepped closer towards his relative, while she instructed Effie, one of the oldest Malfoy house elves, to take care of the corpse.

  
It was an open secret amongst the Dark Lord’s inner circle that Draco, in what was perceived as a demonstration of true aristocratic arrogance, considered torture beneath wizards of their standing. Natural talent and proficiency in most of the legilimentic disciplines, the familial Malfoy magic was well suited for the more subtle branches of magic, evident in their long line of powerful potion masters and mind manipulators, made the infliction of pain as a means of obtaining information obsolete.

  
“You have requested my presence, my Lord?”

  
Snake like features arranged themselves in a nasty grimace, a frightening caricature of the indulgent smile they were probably supposed to portray. If nothing else, his inability to mirror basic human expressions, served as a powerful reminder just how little there was left of the young Hogwarts student by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Who had been, by all certifiable accounts, charming and smooth talking, nothing like the shell of a person currently throning above them.

  
“Ah yes, Draco my son! Come closer. It’s been entirely too long since our last meeting.”

  
_Sweet Salazar, have mercy on us all!_

  
There were barely a handful of occasions in Draco’s life, where he had felt true gratefulness for Lucius’ rather uh... conservative approach regarding his upbringing. Who had regarded any unwarranted slip of emotions as unbecoming of a pureblood heir and therefore a punishable offence. However, hearing the words ‘Draco’ and ‘my son’ carelessly strung together in a sentence by none other than the Dark Lord himself, was definitely one of those incredibly rare moments. Even with at least a decade’s worth of practice in concealing his true feelings, physically as well as mentally, Draco had considerable difficulties not to act upon his instant revulsion at the rather intimate address.

  
_Better not to imagine the disastrous fall out such a slight would have provoked._

  
Covering his traitorous thoughts with another deep bow, Draco decided to go for a slightly less life threatening reaction. Instinctual self preservation, the daily bread and butter of any self respecting Slytherin. Lies spilling smoothly from his lips, he elaborated, all the while gagging inside, like always when he was forced to converse politely with the man, who hadn’t hesitated to order the death of Draco’s mother.

  
“You honour me, my Lord. Please accept my apologies if I have given the impression of being neglectful in my duties. The initial negotiations with the French Government proved to be more difficult and time consuming than I had previously anticipated.”

  
Graciously acknowledging Draco’s apology with a small incline of his head, the Dark Lord spoke, his formerly sharp voice smoothed out to a silky hiss. “Nevertheless, your advisors have informed me that you are doing admirably well in your efforts. As usual you astound me with your competence.”

  
With an air of nonchalance, skirting the edges of haughtiness Draco replied, while raising one of his pale eyebrows. “High praise indeed. Not that Rabastan and Antonin are the most reliable of sources. They have both skipped almost half our meetings in favour of the lavish establishments Paris has to offer.” _Incompetent fools_. “Nonetheless they are not wrong in their assumptions. The negotiations are actually progressing quite nicely, if I dare say so myself. Today I got the information that we can expect the official declaration of surrender within the next two weeks at most.”

  
_Not that I mind that the two of them are stupid enough to leave all the hard work to me. Otherwise it might have taken a real effort to organise and hide my secret meetings with my contact within the French resistance. Besides, if they had so much as an inkling of intelligence they would have realised that I wouldn’t hesitate to throw them to the wolves. Discrediting them, can only work in my favour._

  
Visibly exasperated, the Dark Lord drawled, burning red eyes narrowing dangerously at the implication that some of his followers were slacking in their duties. Even first hour Death Eaters, like Dolohov and Lestrange, had no excuse for neither laziness nor ineptitude, especially not at the expense of high profile negotiations. “I was afraid something like that was going to happen. Obviously, your youth has given them the misleading impression, that they can take liberties without fearing the same repercussions as they would with any other commander of my forces. Do you want to be the one who relieves them from their misconceptions? Disrespect of that kind is better stifled in the bud, before it has the chance to grow into something more dangerous.”

  
“It will be my pleasure my Lord.”

  
A malicious smirk spread on Draco’s face. Allowing his mind a sweet moment of indulgence, where he imagined all the nasty curses he could throw at the two dark wizards. Antonin Dolohov and Rabastan Leastrange, had quite the reputation for brutally manhandling their female prisoners. Teaching them a lesson had the potential of being rather enjoyable, at least as far as assignments by the Dark Lord went.

  
_Pity, I can’t go through with it._

  
As gratifying as the prospect of hurting those disgusting trolls was, it would accomplish little in the great scheme of things, since killing them was rather regrettably out of the question. Claiming some of their prisoners for himself, however, was definitely within the realms of possibility. Two each sounded like a more than reasonable prize and if he played his cards right Lestrange and Dolohov would still perceive it as a mercy on Draco’s part. He already had some names in mind, not too high on the hit list that their change in ownership might cause suspicion, but all of them had family waiting for them in France.

  
_Rhea Scamander, Dean Thomas, Morag MacDougal and Kiran Parkinson._

  
Evidently satisfied with Draco’s enthusiastic response, the Dark Lord pressed on. “Very well. Now onto more important matters. It has come to my attention that there have been some rumours going around. Apparently you, Draco, have acquired quite a title of your own, amongst my younger followers. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”

  
Suddenly Draco felt as if the solid stone floor beneath him had unexpectedly vanished, replaced by a thin layer of ice, the only separation between himself and an infinite abyss of darkness, ready to cave in at any given moment. He had never stopped to keep careful tabs on the inner workings of the rumour mill. Of course he had heard about his honorary title amongst the newest generation of Death Eaters, who evidently regarded him as somewhat of a role model, interpreting his rapid rise through the ranks as an indicator that the days of the inner circle as centre of power were already numbered.

  
_Deluded fools, the lot of them._

  
However, his severe misgivings about their misplaced hero worship aside, Draco had hoped, evidently against all probability, that those whispers would never reach the Dark Lord’s ear. There was no way to predict the mad man’s reaction to the almost reverend moniker his younger followers had given Draco and this specific term was certainly pretentious enough that it could be perceived as undermining his authority.

  
Concealing his growing uneasiness beneath a mask of aloof disinterest, Draco furrowed his brows, as if it took him some time to remember. “I have heard some rumours, my Lord, but must admit that I didn’t consider them worthy of my attention. Pretty words are usually nothing more than fleeting flights of fancy, quickly spoken and even faster forgotten.”

  
High pitched, almost hysterical laughter snapped Draco’s attention towards his aunt. Tauntingly she mocked. “Oh darling nephew, always so eloquent. Mummy dearest would be proud of you.”

  
Bella’s callous words cut into Draco’s skin, making his fingers itch for his wand. It didn’t surprise him really. For all her faults, a lack of sanity chief amongst them, Bellatrix had an uncanny ability to hit people where it hurt the most. To push their buttons until they broke under her attentive gaze, reading their reactions like an open book. Not that Draco planned on giving her the satisfaction of caving. As much as her mockery stung, he wouldn’t risk everything he had achieved over the last three years, in a hasty bid to protect his mother’s honour.

  
_Forgive me, Maman._

  
Raising one of his eyebrows delicately at her, Draco removed every hint of sharpness out of his voice. Instead he took great pains to sound lazy, almost bored, coating his words in saccharine sweetness. “Bella, how charming of you to join our conversation! Let me assure you, dearest aunt, that the opinion of my mother has ceased to matter to me, the very day she dared to betray myself, our cause and our Lord to that weakly Potter boy. Reliving the world from her presence was the last valuable service my worthless excuse of a father has delivered to the cause and that was more than three years ago.”

  
As expected, his aunt was sputtering in indignation, obviously dissatisfied at his lack of reaction to her taunts, whilst the red eyes of the Dark Lord darted between them with an amused glint. “Sharp tongued as ever, I see. Judging by your reaction, I take it you are not overly fond of your title?”

  
Draco scoffed derisively. “Any title, no matter how aspiring it sounds, is only as worthy as the powers that assign it. How could I ever carry one, my Lord, that doesn’t reflect your wishes? What do I care about the buoyant fantasies of some deluded minds, when any honours I could wish for, come from you and you alone, my Lord.”

  
_Hopefully that’s subservient enough to placate him._

  
Reptilian eyes fixed Draco with an intent expression, that made him squirm on the inside. However, outwardly he continued to project a calm and collected front. The Dark Lord and Bellatrix were both as ruthless as any predator, ready to strike at the slightest sign of weakness. Showing them that the topic unsettled him, would make this conversation far more dangerous than it had to be.

  
“So you merely doubt the legitimacy of the claim? I must admit I have a certain appreciation for the implied dramatics. The Black Prince... to my Dark Lord... Last descendant of two of the most powerful lines of Wizarding nobility. Young and magically gifted, with a mind for strategy and political finesse that most of my followers lack. I have come to value your counsel and you personify all the fine qualities of cunning and ambition my most noble ancestor demanded in his pupils and that I myself appreciate above most others.”

  
As the speech went on, the Dark Lord’s voice had turned from cold calculation to something akin to fondness, the same silky cadence he usually reserved for his terrifying pet snake or even Bellatrix. Prompting goose pumps to bloom on Draco’s skin, while he struggled to swallow down the acidic bile, which was threatening to rise up.

  
Hearing a genocidal megalomaniac sing his praises, was an undeniably uncomfortable experience and Draco just hoped that there was a point to this whole exercise. Otherwise this ongoing word vomit could only suggest that the Dark Lord had taken a genuine liking to him, which held implications Draco simply didn’t feel ready to contemplate.

  
_Please, just get to the bloody point, already!_

  
Almost on cue the Dark Lord chuckled and asked slyly, his darkly smooth voice slicing through the tense air. “A great king needs a powerful prince don’t you think? Not exactly a successor, but a favoured follower. Privy to my plans and visions, free to share his thoughts without fearing retribution. Elevated amongst his peers, second only to myself and your aunt.”

  
For a short moment Draco thought he might faint on the spot, the cursed words droning in his head. Even if the Dark Lord hadn’t said it outright, his intentions couldn’t have been clearer. Hysterical laughter threatened to burst forward, as Draco’s mind struggled with the realisation that the Dark Lord actually wanted him as his second in command. The Black Prince. Poster boy for the new generation of Death Eaters.

_  
Merlin, help me. That’s just what I need. More time to spend with the crazy lunatic._

  
However, when said crazy lunatic offers you power on a silver platter, you’d damn well better display some gratitude. Therefore Draco was fast to lower his head in deference. Filling the lake surface that covered the most outward layer of his consciousness with feelings of awe and respect, whilst keeping his initial terror well protected. A necessary precaution, just in case the Dark Lord tried catch glimpses of his thoughts. “As you know, I am yours to command, my Lord. If that are your wishes I will do my very best not to disappoint you.”

  
From the corner of his eye, Draco saw his aunt beaming at him with the same overflowing satisfaction which was evident on the Dark Lord’s snake like features. “I didn’t expect any different. Of course, there will be some changes. After the negotiations with France have come to a close, you shall return to my side permanently in order to complete your training.”  
His words sent a wave of anxiety through Draco’s body, bringing memories of hour long trainings sessions with his aunt, that often ended in pain and blood: scrapes, cuts and even broken bones that he hadn’t been allowed to heal just to prolong his suffering until the next lecture.

_  
‘Pain is the best teacher, nephew! Especially for pampered little princes like you.’_

  
Draco had had to endure two years of brutal training until Bella had finally declared him a worthy descendant of the legendary Black duellers and formally accepted Draco’s claim as her Head of House. Surrendering the family ring, that currently glistened on Draco’s fingers, in an unusual acknowledgement of tradition. By then he had lost track, how many times Bellatrix had broken him into pieces in her quest to mould him into a truly lethal weapon: Combining the intense power and fierceness of his Black ancestry with the deadly accuracy and speed the Malfoy family had favoured for centuries.

  
Draco had always been a fast learner in school, second only to Granger and as loath as he was to admit it, the constant threat of agony certainly added a powerful incentive. Silent spell casting, once a seemingly indomitable obstacle, had become second nature and his wand, a willow unicorn combination, was useful but not longer a necessity. No. He couldn’t deny the ruthless effectiveness of his aunt’s methods. Nonetheless, Draco could have gone without being offered a repeat of the experience with the Dark Lord taking his aunt’s place as his instructor.

  
Despite his apprehension, he nodded curtly. “I will return at once my Lord. Now that the leadership of France has accepted the general outline of our terms, the remaining negotiations aren’t much more than form...”

  
A loud pang interrupted Draco mid sentence, as the heavy door flew open, revealing the gaunt silhouette of Lucius Malfoy, ill fitting robes hanging loosely on his frame, hair unkempt and face shining with crazed fanaticism. Nothing like the imposing figure Draco remembered from his youth, who had been able to commandeer a room by sheer charisma and insisted on exerting absolute control over pretty much every aspect of his life, even his own family. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the heavy sense of foreboding as Lucius swept into the room, levitating a lifeless body after him, his face concealed by a dark piece of fabric.

_  
How overly dramatic._

  
Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Draco opened his mouth, ready to fire off a scathing remark. However, before he could find his voice, he caught sight of a third newcomer and the words slowly died in his throat. Theodore Nott. Wavy brown hair ruffled, expression haunted, dark circles telling a story of sleepless nights. Looking as pale as a sheet he hesitantly trailed after Lucius and the mysterious captive, his light green eyes darting fearfully through the room.

  
_Merlin and Morgana, this isn’t going to end well!_


	2. Children of War Part 2

  
_Merlin and Morgana, this isn’t going to end well!_

  
“Lucius.” In contrast to Draco not rendered speechless by the unexpected appearance of an old friend, Bellatrix spat the name venomously, her easily enraged temper flaring up. “You dare interrupt us? To enter our meeting, without a prior invitation? I mean look at you. Pathetic excuse of a Death Eater, that you are!” Bella’s voice turned into a feral growl, her stormy eyes flashing with ire at her former brother in law.

  
To say that Draco was surprised by the intensity of Bella’s blatant hatred for Lucius, would have been a major understatement. Until tonight he hadn’t had many opportunities to observe their interactions in such an informal setting, but her thinly veiled scorn gave Draco cause to wonder if Bellatrix blamed Narcissa’s husband for her sisters’ untimely death.

  
Her unwavering devotion to the Dark Lord surely wouldn’t allow her to question his decision, when he sentenced Narcissa to her death: Her sister had betrayed them after all. However, from his mother’s stories, Draco knew that the two sisters had been close once upon a time. Before the First Wizarding War had set Britain aflame, they had clung to each other, united in their shared grief for Andromeda: The oldest Black sister who had fled her home in order to marry a muggleborn. Andromeda, who had escaped an arranged marriage with Lucius Malfoy, which left it to Narcissa to uphold the family honour by marrying the older wizard straight out of school. Was it so far fetched to believe that Bella might harbour animosity towards the man who had ultimately fired off the killing curse at her?

  
Burning eyes boring into Lucius grey ones, the Dark Lord raised his hand, effortlessly silencing Bellatrix, while he stated in a deceptively calm voice. “I am afraid this meeting is far above your rank, Lucius. You should know better than entering it uninvited.” The scolding caused the formerly powerful Lord to shrink into himself, almost cowering in fear, and a sick sense of satisfaction warmed Draco’s cold heart. Perhaps it made him a despicable human being, to revel in another man’s discomfort like that, but Draco simply couldn’t find it in himself to care.

  
Too many times bruises had blossomed on his skin, too often had venom turned his insides on fire and curses left their marks on his body. Too many tears had been cried in helpless rage and misery, too many times had his mother’s robes slipped, revealing finger shaped bruises on her arms. What were a few seconds of discomfort, compared with a lifetime of suffering. Lucius was lucky to be alive at this point. An oversight Draco had vowed to rectify, as soon as the opportunity arose. There was a curse, he had specifically researched for that special occasion.

  
“... will discuss an appropriate punishment later. Now, that you are already here, we might as well hear what you have to say.”

  
Trying, and in Draco’s uh... ‘impartial’ opinion, failing miserably, to appear composed and full of the self assured arrogance, he had commanded before his steep fall from grace, Lucius straightened his spine. Jutting his chin in Nott’s direction, whose gaze was stubbornly fixed on his feet, he stated. “Apologies for my rude intrusion, my Lord, Bella, but when I heard earlier that my dear, dear son would grace us with his presence tonight, I was sure he wouldn’t want to miss this event. After all he and young Theodore over here, share some of their uh... let’s just say acquaintances”

  
_Ugh... ‘Dear son’... And ‘Acquaintances?’ Like in more than one?_

  
Nothing against Theo, but he had always been more of a solitary type, vastly preferring the company of books to actual conversations or any other activity that required human interactions. Parkinson and Draco being the notable exceptions to the rule, but they had played with each other before they could form anything remotely resembling coherent sentences. Later on, Zabini had joined their little circle, not because any of them had been particularly welcoming, rather the opposite actually, but because Blaise was simply stubborn enough to simply disregard all the walls, each of them used to keep the rest of the world at bay. That the other houses regarded Slytherin as the root of all things evil, basically limiting Blaise’s choices of male friends in their year to Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Draco himself, might have played a bit of a role in that, now that Draco thought about it.

  
Parkinson was hopefully playing house with Greengrass right now, and generally believed to be dead: Killed in the crossfire of an Order attack, a stray Bombarda hitting home. Splintered parts of Pansy’s wand, coated in her blood were the only remains that could be retrieved for the traditional burial rites. Which only left Blaise from their sworn quartet, but to think that Theo might have done anything to compromise Zabini’s safety was rather farfetched, if not completely out of the question. Maybe Lucius was referring to Gregory Goyle? But why bring up any of them? None of them had any rebel connections, at least as far as Draco was aware and he had invested quite an effort into vetting all of them.

  
Mind swirling with unanswered questions, Draco stoically met Lucius gaze as the older wizard puffed out his chest and flashed him a haughty smirk. If possible Theo looked even more uncomfortable than before, fists clenching and unclenching at his side, while he avoided the four sets of eyes that were watching him intently. “Given the right incentive he had quite a few interesting stories to tell. Some, I am sure, you’d find highly entertaining, son!”

_  
‘The right incentive.’ That sick bastard. He must be threatening someone, to ensure Theo’s compliance. But for what exactly?_

  
Lucius constant posturing paired with unnecessarily ominous references, were beginning to grate on Draco’s nerves. Not to mention that he didn’t appreciate the fact that his oldest friend was apparently one of the pawns in Lucius’ latest scheme. Until now, Theodore had managed to steer relatively clear from the new regime, which was all the more impressive considering that Nott sr. was deeply entrenched in Death Eater politics.

  
Well aware of the fact, that Lucius had targeted Theo in order to get a rise out of him, _and damn the slimy bastard because it was working far too well,_ Draco willed himself not to give into the anger, that was bubbling right beneath the surface of his carefully composed features. He knew how to play this game, how to triumph on a battlefield of cutting words and self control. After all he had learned from the very best. If Lucius insisted on playing dirty, Draco would certainly not hesitate to oblige.

  
Given the fact, that hurling insults at him would only play into Lucius hands, he settled on a different strategy. Lacing his voice with thinly veiled condescension, Draco exhaled a humourless laugh and mocked the older wizard mercilessly. “Oh please spare us the dramatics, father. If there is actually something useful buried beneath all that empty talk, then by all means do enlighten us, but I must insist you do it swift. There’s still the future of the country to discuss.”

  
Goading Lucius with his loss of status, proved to be fairly entertaining. To observe his reaction as the words sunk in, the last traces of colour draining from his unshaven face. Bella only helped matters by dissolving into high pitched bouts of laughter, while the Dark Lord seemed unaffected, obviously content to watch the events unfold without his intervention. Amidst the chaos, for the first time since he had stepped into the room, Theo met Draco’s gaze. Nervous evasiveness momentarily giving way to something akin to awe.

_  
Well, can’t blame him for being slightly shell shocked._

  
The Nott’s just like the Black’s, Malfoy’s and another handful of pureblood families, who counted themselves amongst the upper echelons of wizarding society, still kept to the old ways. Which in its most basic interpretation merely referred to the upholding of centuries of tradition, including but not limited to, the observance of ancient magical rituals centred around the wheel of the year, instead of the bastardised muggle versions, but in their circles also demanded the adherence to a strict code of societal conduct. Draco’s demonstrative lack off respect towards one of his elders, publicly undermining his father’s authority, defied all the rules of dutiful obedience and meek compliance a pureblood heir like the two of them had been raised to observe.

  
“Oh, this is just too perfect.” Bellatrix’ shrill excitement snapped Draco’s attention away from his friend and back to the dark witch, her steely grey eyes sparkling with amusement in the green light. “Draco, darling, I think I might owe you an apology. Maybe you aren’t as boring as you are always pretending to be, nephew.”

  
“Glad you caught up eventually, aunty. Only took you five years, but who’s counting anyway.” Adding a wink for good measure, Draco turned to the man he had once called father. Lucius’ expression had turned murderous while he had to listen to Bella’s ridicule and he was obviously dissatisfied by the Dark Lord’s lack of protest on his behalf. Jawline clenching, teeth grinding together, his posture tensing and wand hand tightening around the golden snake head of his walking stick. It wouldn’t take much to push Lucius over the edge now, to provoke him into doing something insanely stupid.

_  
Merlin, he’s become way too predictable._

  
“So? Speak or leave, it’s all the same to me. I am sure Nott could give us a perfectly accurate account, without wasting our precious time.”

_  
Three... Two... One... And..._

  
“You insolent little prat! How dare you talk to me like that. My very own flesh and blood, a disgrace to the Malfoy name.”

_  
Good grief, even his insults are dull. After more than twenty years one would think that he might have come up with something better than the whole ‘disgrace to the family’ bullshit._

  
A feral glint entered Lucius’ eyes and suddenly his wand was drawn, unleashing three curses in quick succession. Inwardly Draco smirked viciously, the Black family magic pulsing eagerly through his veins. Not bothering to pull out his own wand, he flicked his wrist and sent the curses into the far off wall, their harsh impact sending tremors through the ancient walls. Conjuring an invisible shield around himself, Draco fixed his eyes on Lucius disbelieving face, before he drawled arrogantly.

  
“Oh, please father. Quit whining, it’s rather... infantile, if you ask me. Do I have to remind you, that after our last duel it is my right to determine who is and who isn’t a disgrace to the Malfoy name? Or were those curses your backhanded way of issuing an official challenge?” To underline his point, Draco raised his wand hand demonstratively, letting the green light catch on the Malfoy insignia.

_  
Give me a reason to destroy you Lucius. Just one, and I’ll take it. Gladly and without regrets._

  
Instead of an answer, Draco was confronted with another barrage of curses, bouncing uselessly from his shield, frustration painting angry spots of scarlet on Lucius’ cheeks. Making a show of barely being able to suppress a yawn, Draco turned towards the Dark Lord, who gave him a barely perceptible nod of approval. He had been attacked, and therefore was well within his rights to seek retaliation.

  
Visibly delighted by the exciting turn of events, Bella clapped her hands in a gleeful gesture, before she took it upon herself to magically hurl the mysterious prisoner out of the line of fire. Following right behind a wide eyed Theo, who had cautiously stepped away from Lucius as soon as things had begun to escalate.

_  
Who would have thought? Tonight I’ll have my chance to avenge Maman’s death._

  
Positioning himself in the traditional duelling stance, Draco mockingly bowed before Lucius, hands moving in a wildly exaggerated flourish. The provocative posturing visibly enraged the older wizard further. Abandoning all pretence of calm, Lucius ground out. “You. Dare. To. Mock. Me? To. Defy. Me?” Each word accentuated by another curse, crashing against Draco’s shields like waves breaking on the shore, while Lucius advanced, wand flashing and voice rising.

  
“Standing there. Acting all arrogant and powerful, when I’ve seen what you really are. When I’ve already had you cowering at my feet, sobbing and begging me for mercy. You’ll never be more than a spoiled little brat! Weak. Pathetic. Scared. You are nothing without me. Nothing, do you hear me?”

  
Draco let the words wash over him, registering them with some sort of detached numbness. Later, cooped up in the privacy of his own quarters, he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape them. Would revisit them, over and over again, their echoes inevitably etched into his brain and allow them to drag up some of the painful memories he usually kept securely locked away, in the deepest recesses of his mind.

  
However right now, was definitely not the moment for introspection. Draco’s blood was singing, the exhilarating feeling of powerful magic swirling in the air around him, enveloping him and keeping him tethered to the here and now. Senses alert, completely focused on the task at hand, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. One step forward, accompanied by a twirl of his finger, was enough to stop Lucius in his tracks, a stunning spell smattering into his shield with force.

  
“Oh, I do, father, trust me, I do!” He kept his voice deliberately low, a stark contrast to Lucius’ increasingly unhinged tirade. Another step, curses flashing like lightning through the room, giving the other wizard little time to think much less a chance to retaliate.

  
“And do you know, what I hear?” Moving closer, Draco had to suppress a self satisfied smirk, when he saw Lucius’ shield shudder under the impact of his spells, who looked notably thrown off balance by the attacks. Two years ago they had been more evenly matched, Draco’s victory at the time, due to a mix of dumb luck and Lucius arrogance rather than real skill on his part.

_  
Not this time. This time I want to destroy him. To let him know that I was the one who easily knocked him into the dust, without even bothering to draw my own wand._

  
“You are desperate. Clinging to the faint illusion of power, you no longer possess. Too blind or just too stubborn to accept that you have lost everything that should have mattered to you. I am not the weak one, father, you are!”

  
On that note, the protective shield surrounding Lucius finally imploded, and Draco swept to his side, quietly firing off one final, rather elaborate curse, that hit the other wizard squarely in the chest: Knocking Lucius off his feet, its effect deceptively similar to a stunning spell.

  
_Veneficus intereum._

  
The whole thing was positively anti-climatic, considering Draco had just performed a fatal curse, but well, that was kind of the point. It would take weeks until the first symptoms began to manifest and even longer until Lucius would succumb to the ‘magical disease’ he had so unexpectedly contracted. A neat solution, saving Draco the trouble of dealing with the political ramifications of outright killing a fellow Death Eater.

_  
As useless as Lucius is considered nowadays, he still has some friends in the right places and he really isn’t worth the hassle_

.  
Drinking in the sight of the incapacitated wizard sprawled out on the floor beneath him, Draco leaned forward, meeting Lucius glowering glare with a slight upturn of his lips. Stopping mere inches from his face, Draco lowered his voice to a dark whisper. “Check mate, father. You really should have known better than to challenge me.”

  
_Enervate._

Draco straightened up, releasing his hold on Lucius with an impatient wave of his hand. Instantaneously, a heavy shudder travelled through the incapacitated wizard, muscles jerking uncontrollably, followed by violent gasps for air. The harsh noises reverberating in the tense silence. Not sparing his felled opponent another glance, it would take Lucius at least a few seconds to recover his bearings, Draco turned towards the Dark Lord. Better to deal with the prisoner now, without having to endure Lucius meandering ramblings.

_  
Otherwise this damned meeting is probably not going to end before sunrise._

  
However, just as Draco was about to broach the subject, Theo blurted out. “Sweet Salazar, Draco, where have you learned to fight like that?” Three heads swivelled in his direction, suddenly reminded of the second intruder to their meeting. Theo, in turn, seemed to regret his outburst, fidgeting under the sudden scrutiny, already pale skin blanching further until it resembled the colour of day old ash. “I mean... You weren’t... That was...”

  
“Truly impressive, I must agree. Bella you have outdone yourself with his training.” The Dark Lord leaned back on his throne and gave Bellatrix an appreciative nod, who was radiating with pride. Virtually glowing under the praise the Dark Lord had bestowed upon her. With a lazy wave the dark wizard beckoned Theo closer, causing Draco to stiffen slightly. “Come over here, Theodore. Your father Lord Nott is one of my oldest and most loyal followers, is he not?”

  
“I... Yes, my Lord, the House of Nott is most honoured to have a place amongst your ranks and serve you in your most noble quest.” Discretely exhaling a sigh of relief, Draco noted that Theo’s impeccable manners hadn’t abandoned him. And even if he was laying it on a little thick, his words came off as relatively genuine. An impressive feat for someone who had had until today, precious little cause to interact with the Dark Lord on a regular basis. He even managed to cover up some of his quite noticeable discomfort by sinking into a deep bow, the dark fringe of his hair falling over his eyes.

_  
Oh, now I know where this is going. It’s quite unusual if not downright suspicious for the son of an influential Death Eater, not to join the ranks himself._

  
“Theo has always been an ardent supporter, my Lord. I’ve never had reason to question his commitment to our cause.” Draco gave Theo a reassuring look, before he met the calculating gaze of the Dark Lord. “We used to cultivate tight relations with each other, but Theo favours decidedly more scholarly pursuits. History of magic was your forte, was it not? I can recall at least three specific instances, where you lectured me about the far reaching druidic influence on our current interpretation of magical rituals. You were hopeless at defence, though. A shame, otherwise we might have joined the ranks together.”

  
Finally, there was a glimmer of understanding in Theo’s gaze, who hurried to supply. “Uh... Yes, of course. Nothing would have pleased me more, my Lord. But as Draco has surmised so aptly, my talents are really more studious in nature. Besides,...” A shadow crossed Theo’s face, but it was gone so fast that Draco wasn’t sure if it wasn’t just a product of his overactive imagination. “...I think I have found another way of proving my loyalty to you.” Nott gestured meaningful to the still form of the prisoner, crumpled lifelessly on the floor.

  
Draco’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes slowly darting from Theo to the prisoner and back. Theo. Sweet, shy Theo Nott was turning in a prisoner? Like willingly? Knowing that he would condemn whoever it was to hour long torture? And in collaboration with Lucius of all people? It defied any pretence of logic and even more the rules of probability!

_  
That can’t be the full story! Please don’t let that be the truth!_

  
Not meeting Draco’s narrowed eyes, Theo shifted a bit on his feet and continued “He’s a...” But before he had the chance to finish the sentence Theo was interrupted by a raspy voice. “Traitor.” The simple word crashed into Draco like a bucket of cold water. Dread pooling in his stomach and slowly turning his blood into ice.

  
Loyalty was the one quality the Dark Lord prized above all others. Rewarding displays of outstanding loyalty, like Bellatrix’ unquestionable devotion or even Draco’s outwardly steadfast support, with elevated positions amongst his ranks, whilst doling out vicious punishments for anything even remotely resembling a lack in either enthusiasm or conviction. However the consequences of actual betrayal, of knowingly committing acts of treason, were in an entirely different league all of their own. The fate of Bellatrix’ plaything from earlier would look like a walk in the park, compared with the pain a traitor to the cause would have to endure if this allegations held any merit.

  
“Oh Lucius, already recovered? Who’d have thought, that was a rather nasty duel. And so delightfully short.” Bella, who seemed almost galvanised at the prospect of getting her hands on another victim, snickered mockingly at her bristling brother in law.

_  
Salazar, Theo, what have you done? Even if you’ve never had the distinct displeasure to admire my aunts sickening handiwork, her reputation precedes her by far. You must know that you’ve condemned the poor bloke to hours of unimaginable pain._

  
“Lucius...” Draco saw the Dark Lord’s eyes zero in on the blond wizard, his face a sneering mask of distaste and his voice dripping with condescension. “...Get out of my sight. Go. I simply don’t have the necessary patience to deal with you right now.”

  
For a second, Draco thought that Lucius would be foolish enough to argue with the Dark Lord, but then the disgraced wizard seemed to think better of it. Turning sharply on his heels, he stormed out of the door, his black robes billowing behind him. Bellatrix cackling laughter followed him out of the door, until he was far down the corridor.

  
“Let’s cut out the foreplay. So... who do we have here?”

  
Impatiently, she flicked her wand in the direction of the accused, levitating him into an upright position. Kneeling on the marble floor, head hanging limply to the side. Another flick, and the piece of cloth that concealed his identity vanished, revealing the wizard beneath.

  
“Blaise Zabini?” All breath left Draco’s lungs, the words tumbling out in a pained rasp, filled with equal amounts of hurt and utmost disbelief. “Merlin, Theo, please tell me this is a fucking joke!”

  
Desperately Draco searched the face of his friend for a sign, the slightest hint, that at the very least Theo hadn’t had a say in this whole nightmare. Blackmail. Coercion. Everything was better than contemplating the possibility, that Theo had willingly sold out his own boyfriend, murdering Blaise with the same certainty as if he had cast the killing curse himself. However, besides an unwilling shake of his head, Theo didn’t acknowledge Draco’s pleading gaze.

_  
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Really? Fate is definitely not pulling any punches tonight, at least that much is certain. But good grief, how could you, Theo? Blaise trusted you implicitly. Why would you betray him? Fail him so fundamentally? To deliver him straight into Bellatrix clutches, of all people. I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy, let alone my would be fiancé._

  
Unanswered questions warred with an overwhelming sense of betrayal, before Draco’s well trained instincts kicked in and he quickly erased any traitorous emotions from his face. As unpredictable as this whole evening had turned out to be, it was a simple and universally accepted truth that in company of the single most dangerous wizard on the planet and his bloodthirsty pet, it was best to hold one’s personal feelings rather close to the chest.

  
It hurt. It hurt so bloody much. Not a flashy kind of pain, like a punch to the gut or the burning waves of agony that the Cruciatus curse produced. Rather some sort of quiet sorrow, heavily tinged with melancholy. Loss, Draco realised, almost belatedly, like he had just been robbed of something fundamental. Something he hadn’t even known he still possessed until it simply wasn’t there anymore, vanished within a blink of an eye. A small sliver of innocence, perhaps, he had inexplicably managed to preserve. The unshakeable confidence, that if push came to shove, his friends would have his back.

_  
Nothing’s going to be the same after tonight!_

  
With growing dread, he noticed the almost feral quality that had overtaken Bellatrix’ expression, bloodlust erasing any pretences of sanity. Draco had witnessed enough of her methods, had seen the cruelty his aunt was capable of, to know exactly what fate Blaise would be forced to suffer. Death would look like a mercy, long before Bella was finally done with him.

  
“A friend of yours, nephew? _Enervate_.”

  
The unconcealed glee in Bella’s face made Draco’s insides recoil and squirm with fear, making it difficult to keep his unaffected facade in place. Thankfully, all eyes were fixed on Blaise, who was quickly regaining his consciousness, mouth agape and head jerking in the direction of Bellatrix, who gave him a sickeningly sweet smile.

_  
I can’t afford any mistakes._

  
Blaise’s life might very well depend on Draco’s ability to maintain a convincing act until he had managed to come up with a plan that wouldn’t end with their inevitable death. There must be something he could do, to get Blaise out of this mess.

  
“Hardly, Bella!” Draco noticed how Blaise, obviously still disorientated from the stunning spell, winced at the unmistakable indifference in his voice. Silently begging his friend for forgiveness, Draco ventured on, a cruel smirk playing around his lips. “You know me better than that, dearest aunt. But Zabini was ... useful, I’d say. He’s rather intelligent, even if he never had the patience to apply his wits on academic endeavours. For sure a better conversationalist than those two dimwits we three had the displeasure of sharing a dorm with.”

  
“Theo...” Blaise’s desperate voice broke, his adam’s apple bobbing heavily, as he swallowed. Eyes fixed on the brown haired wizard. “Fuck, Theo, what have you done? We... we were... I knew you had other... I just can’t recognise you anymore, Theo. How could you do this to me?”

_  
Well, at least I am not the only one who thinks this shit’s bloody insane._

  
“What I have done to you?” Theo sounded uncharacteristically agitated, his arms waving in grand gestures, red splotches of anger on his pale cheeks, while the Dark Lord and Bellatrix observed the escalating stand off with quiet interest. “You have the sheer audacity to ask me what I’ve done, Blaise? You betrayed me, not the other way around. I am not the one who has contacts to the resistance in France. I don’t meet up with blood traitors and mudbloods and provide them with priceless potion ingredients. They killed my little sister, Blaise. They killed Ariana and you helped them anyway.”

_  
Ariana? Theo has or rather had a sister? Why is this the very first time I hear anything about her?_

  
Hatred simmered in Theo’s olive eyes as he spat. “I had to find out from Draco’s father of all people. Lucius sodding Malfoy, Blaise! Of course I didn’t believe him. At least at first. But then I found your journal, and noticed the odd notes on some of the dates. So I decided to follow you to your meeting today, only to find you collaborating with the enemy and snogging Charlie fucking Weasley. The filthy little blood traitor. So don’t you dare look at me like I’ve betrayed you somehow! You deserve everything that’s coming for you. I hate you.”

_  
Good grief people. No idea what’s more shocking. That Blaise is helping the resistance and cheating on Theo with Charley Weasley of all people, or the fact that Theo is petty enough to hand Blaise in, because of his hurt pride. I get that he’s angry, but torture and death are hardly the first things that come to mind, when your boyfriend’s unfaithful. And since when is Theo so fucking passionate about blood purity?_

  
“Draco.” Startled Draco snapped out of his thoughts, to see the Dark Lord gesturing towards the prisoner. Not needing further instruction, Draco nodded his assent, grip tightening around his wand. While he was moving towards Blaise, Draco’s other hand sneaked into one of his pockets, long fingers slowly searching for the uneven surface of the moonstone he always carried with him. A sense of calm enveloped Draco, when his skin met the cool stone. Somewhere in Britain the counterpart would flutter awake and hopefully alert its owner to the fact, that Draco needed her help.

  
Blaise stubbornly met his gaze head on, face filled with a mixture of hurt, regret and hopelessness. Expressions that seemed so decidedly foreign on the face of his eternally optimistic friend, that Draco had to fight the urge to flash him a reassuring smile. Instead he dipped his head almost imperceptibly, careful not to show any unwarranted sympathy.

  
“Zabini. Got anything to say for yourself?”

  
A forlorn quality overtook Blaise’s features, his terror filled eyes darting to the right, where Draco could hear Theo talking quietly to Bellatrix and the Dark Lord. Exhaling a dejected sigh, that made Draco want to curse Theo a new one, Blaise shrugged his shoulders despondently. “Not much room for denial, I’d wager. We both know all too well that my occlumency ‘s worth shit, Malfoy.”

  
Draco was about to respond, but then suddenly his focus shifted, the brush of a foreign consciousness touching his mind and he could have wept in relief. She had answered his calls. The timing was rather unfortunate, but nonetheless his fingers tightened around the rough stone, deepening their connection further and allowing him to access her emotions.

  
Grief flooded his senses, as soon as their connection was properly established. Overwhelming, heart shattering sorrow, so fresh and raw, that it threatened to steal Draco’s breath away. Concern temporarily overruled his acute awareness of their precarious situation and Draco hurried to comfort her to the best of his admittedly rather limited abilities: Infusing their mental bond with the few feelings of warmth and comfort he could conjure on the spot. Something terrible must have happened to cause her so much distress. Pushing down his rising anguish, Draco relayed the message he had been planning to send from the moment he had realised that Blaise’s life was at stake.

_  
‘Tonight’s the night. Meeting point at the willow? I have a stash with potion supplies and healing potions there.’_

_  
‘I hoped you would choose this path. I’ll be waiting for you, Dragon. Our stories are coming to a close.’_

  
Palpable sadness clung to her words, even if Draco could sense that she was glad, that their separation wouldn’t last much longer. Seeing each other had gotten more difficult ever since he had been tasked with the French negotiations and even before then, they had always been restricted by the necessity of absolute secrecy. Outwardly being on two opposing sides of a civil war, posed quite the hindrance to regular meet ups.

  
Painfully aware of the fact that their time was limited, at least for the moment, Draco withdrew from the connection. Echoes of her heartbreak and mourning still lingering in his heart. He worried for her. Her message had been rather cryptic, which wasn’t exactly out of character, but still... And he couldn’t help but wonder what could have devastated her so much. It wasn’t like her, to give in to despair and Draco had never experienced her so beaten down. Not during her time at Malfoy Manor. Not after the Battle of Hogwarts. Not after most of her friends died in Death Eater revels or fled the country.

_  
‘Our stories are coming to a close.’_

  
“Malfoy? Draco? Still hanging in there?” Blaise’s low voice cut into Draco’s stupor, pushing through the distinct sense of finality and foreboding those last words had sparked within him. Somehow he felt oddly touched by the hint of concern, that had entered his friends features. Just because Draco still considered Blaise to be his best mate, didn’t mean it worked the other way around. After all they hadn’t exactly parted on good terms, when Draco had decided to protect him and Theo by avoiding their company.

  
Sneering coldly, Draco raised his wand. “Legilimens”

_  
Better to preserve some of energy for later._

  
The clear, sharp lines of the room turned into a blur. Greens, greys and blacks, swimming in front of his eyes, before they reassembled into a fantastical garden landscape. All matters of magical plants sprouting into the most absurd formations, constantly growing and shrinking, shifting and twisting. High walls made of fire formed the protective shields, which was definitely an upgrade from the weak fencing Draco had encountered the last time he had entered Blaise’s mind.

_  
So much for ‘my occlumency ’s worth shit, Malfoy’._

  
As opposed to the reading of surface thoughts, which could be done whilst maintaining a conversation, it required a state of utmost concentration to immerse oneself deep enough in the mind scape of your victim in order to gain access to specific memories. Few people had the ability to maintain that kind of focus for too long, which was how strong occlumency shields, like Blaise’s fire wall, could easily fend of a mediocre legilimens, just by outlasting their attacker.

  
Nonetheless, if you were well versed in the Mind Arts, fire presented an invader with quite a few potential opportunities to launch an attack. Even if most of them were rather invasive: Relying on brute force to break through the defences, intent on causing as much damage as possible. Not exactly the approach Draco wanted to use on Blaise, so instead of trying to extinguish the fire, Draco settled on a more subtle method.

  
He began to empty his mind, leaving nothing but the faint desire to broach Blaise’s defences, masking his intentions beneath simple nothingness. Then he procured a gust of wind, strong enough to part the fire long enough for his ghostly presence to slip through the thusly produced crack, delving deeper into Blaise’s mind.

  
Upon arrival Draco was hit with a strong wave of Blaise’s emotions. Anger. Hurt. Resentment. Betrayal. Regret. Terror. Fear. The tumultuous tsunami ramming into him without any filter and for a short moment Draco was breathless. Struggling. Fighting against the onslaught until he finally succeeded in his attempts to shut them out. Not wanting to pry anymore than he already had to, he quickly began to skim through the memories closest to him, each represented by a dark blossom on a tree that had just popped up to his right.

  
_Beginner’s mistake._

  
Just like most people, Blaise instinctually concentrated on all the memories he wanted to hide from Draco: Automatically pulling them to the forefront of his mind and making them easily accessible for a skilled legilimens. Quite a few of the first scenes, he got to inspect, centred heavily on Blaise and Theo’s relationship, outlining the major turning points that had led them from being silly in love to the point where Blaise broke things off, less than a month ago.

  
Theo had never been especially forthcoming on the issue of blood purity, which had led Blaise as well as Draco to the assumption that their friend shared in their scepticism on the subject. As it turned out, they had both been severely mistaken, Theo simply didn’t have the stomach for becoming a full blown Death Eater, but he seemed to be very much in agreement with their core ideals and values. Blaming the Order for the death of his twin sister Ariana, who had been killed during a raid on Nott Manor in the First Wizarding War.

  
As time went on, Theo became more and more vocal about his beliefs, condoning the violence that the Dark Lord had unleashed on muggles and muggleborn alike. In stark contrast, Blaise had found himself increasingly sickened by the depravity displayed by the new regime, engaging in various acts of quiet disobedience: Hiding orphaned muggleborns on his estates, visiting the slave auctions and buying as many war prisoners as possible in order to smuggle them over his approved floo connection to Italy.

  
Over the course of the last year their differing stances had begun to weigh on Blaise’s mind, resulting in a number of furious blow ups, their relationship slowly deteriorating beyond the point of no return. Loosing Theo like this, a victim to his own prejudices, had hit Blaise more than he would care to admit out loud and Draco felt a pang of guilt at the realisation that Blaise would have needed him as a friend during that time. The loneliness he felt radiating from the memories hurt deeply, resonating with his own struggle against solitude.

  
Thinking both of his old friends a lost cause, Blaise had begun to confide in Charlie Weasley, one of the first prisoners he had transported to Italy and later on Blaise’s liaison within the French resistance. Their at first rocky relationship slowly turning from mutual mistrust into respect and then an odd sort of friendship. After the break up with Theo, they had added some passionate snogging sessions into the mix. Probably more, but Draco stopped those memories before he could see too much. There were some things that he really didn’t need to know about his best friend.

  
Then, today, everything had come crushing down. What had been supposed to be a standard exchange of potion supplies, in the backstreets of Rome had quickly turned into a disaster when Theo had appeared out of the blue, wand blazing, Lucius close on his heels. The last thing Blaise had seen before everything went black was the stream of green light that hit Charlie Weasley, before the dragon tamer could apparate them away.

  
Having seen more than enough Draco withdrew from Blaise’s mind, the dark lines of the room reemerging in front of him. He was terribly tempted to simply reach for his friend and whisk him away, the knowledge of what Bellatrix was capable of, what she would do to Blaise, as soon as she had the confirmation of Theo’s story, tearing him up from the inside. However if they left right now, they would inevitably be followed, hunted down by the two most powerful Dark Wizards of the country and the other Death Eaters were sure to follow.

  
If Draco wanted them to survive this, he would need find a way to ensure that the Dark Lord and Bellatrix couldn’t follow them, so he pushed the instinct away, reluctantly taking a few steps away from Blaise. Painting a mask of sneering contempt on his face, Draco proclaimed. “Nott’s story is correct, my Lord. Zabini has aided the measly efforts of the blood traitor and mudblood filth for more than two years. Mainly potion supplies and such.” Draco just hoped Blaise wouldn’t oust his deflection by looking too surprised.

_  
Wouldn’t want to endanger the children. Blaise’s contingency plans need a bit of time, to take effect._

  
But he shouldn’t have worried. Hardly a muscle moved on Blaise’s face when he heard Draco’s tweaked summary. He just kept on staring at the Dark Lord his expression stone faced, perfectly composed in the face of a most likely gruesome death. With a sly smirk in Theo’s direction Draco continued his assessment. “However, they were quite careful not to disclose anything of interest to him. Tomorrow I’ll send Flint and Pucey to investigate the few locations the blood traitor can remember. We’d know a whole lot more if someone hadn’t killed the order liaison on sight. A fit of jealous rage, I suppose.”

_  
Instigating a little fight might buy us more time._

  
Redness rushed to Theo’s face as he spluttered, trying to justify himself. “I... I hadn’t... We....”. He took a deep breath, spitting with disgust. “I couldn’t let that filth get away with seducing the son of a noble family. That dirty weasel scum just got what he deserved.”

  
Seeing his former best friend spouting hateful slurs, with such a casual callousness, was still surprising, even if Draco had already seen him do the same in Blaise’s memories. Blaise for his part exclaimed heatedly, his ink black eyes flaring with anger. “Charlie Weasley is a better man. A better wizard than you’ll ever be, Theo! You’ll never be anything more than your father’s little puppet and you have no idea how much I pity you for it.”

  
Grateful for the distraction Draco let his mind drift away, grasping for the faint flicker of Malfoy magic imbued in the metal of his ancestral ring, trying to get a hold on the weak fabric that was left of the formerly strong wards, which surrounded the Manor. If he could manipulate them into denying apparition to anyone who wasn’t a Malfoy by blood, Draco could carry Blaise beyond them without fearing the instant wrath of the Dark Lord. The wards wouldn’t last forever, but about an hour would be more than enough. No matter how much magical strength the Dark Lord and Bellatrix could command. No one could follow the magical residues that got left behind after an apparition, later than a handful of minutes after the apparition had taken place.

_  
There it is!_

  
However, as soon as Draco had actually found the thread of energy that he had been searching for, Blaise exploded at Theo, his loud voice carrying through the room. “Oh come off it, Theo. I don’t need to throw my life away. You’ve already done that for me. I just refuse to cower in front of that mass murdering maniac, unlike you and Malfoy over there.”

_  
Damn Blaise. Of all times to channel your inner Gryffindor._

  
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Draco felt an immense surge of pride and respect towards his friend. Blaise had never been a coward, but just like Draco and Theo he was raised to be more subtle than brash in his behaviour. Recklessness and open defiance were neither the pureblood nor the Slytherin way. To say or rather yell something like that in front of the Dark Lord and Bella was either exceedingly brave or simply suicidal. Perhaps a rather generous dose of both.

  
An assessment that was more than confirmed, as soon as Draco glanced over at his aunt. Bellatrix’ magic cackled around her, searing sparks of fury dancing wildly through the air, promising retaliation for Blaise’s audacity. However, making a split second decision, Draco was the one who acted first. Plastering a malicious smirk on his face, while he hurled a combination of the Cruciatus curse and a numbing spell at his friend, whose face distorted in agony, violent tremors wracking his body as the blinding pain twisted inside of him.

_  
I’m so sorry. So... so... sorry, Blaise!_

  
“Apologies Bella, but you already had your fun tonight.”

  
Her eyebrows shot up, expression quickly turning from annoyance to surprised intrigue. “Finally decided to join in on the real fun, Draco? About time too, if you ask me, nephew. You are full of surprises tonight. I didn’t think you had it in you.” She smiled at him appreciatively, eyes once again glowing with manic pride before she stepped back to the right side of the Dark Lord who looked equally fascinated by this turn of events, chuckling darkly and making an inviting gesture towards the prisoner.

  
“Go on Draco. See it as a present in order to celebrate your rise in status.”

  
Disgust filled Draco at the Dark Lord’s so called ‘reward’, which intensified exponentially when he noticed the vengeful gleam that had entered Theo’s expression. How could he enjoy to see someone he knew, someone he had once cared about, suffer like this?

  
Immediately Draco eased the hold of the curse on his friend, allowing him to come up for breath. “Merlin... Malfoy, you’ve turned into a nasty piece of work, haven’t you?” Disappointment coated Blaise’s ragged voice, but Draco forced himself to ignore it for now. With an unaffected shrug he moved closer to his friend, once again sending his mind towards the wards, pleasantly surprised when he found their magic almost instantly, now that he knew what he was looking for.

  
Lowering his voice to a dangerous hiss, Draco stopped in front of his friend. Towering above him, wand held against his exposed throat, the dark wood pressing uncomfortably into the soft flesh. His mind was straining, struggling with the task of performing the necessary changes to the wards, weaving the multitude of powerful protective spells into a new pattern, while still maintaining a good show for the onlookers. “Oh Blaise,” Draco forced a cold smirk on his features, his voice void of any sympathy. “I really thought you knew me better than that. I’d like to think I haven’t changed all that much, you know?”

_  
At least I hope so._

  
With a final mental tweak, Draco took a steadying breath, bracing himself for a last magical effort. Blaise, was kneeling in front of him, his neck straining to meet Draco’s gaze with a mixture of defiance and betrayal. However, there was something else, just the tiniest, faintest sliver of hope, buried in the depths of Blaise’s dark eyes. Giving him a barely perceptible nod, Draco grabbed his friend by the shoulder, simultaneously hurling a series of deathly curses towards Bellatrix and the Dark Lord. He had no illusions about their chances for success, even if he had definitely managed to catch the unholy couple off guard. At the very least it would serve as an effective distraction, buying both him and Blaise enough time to disapparate.

  
Bella’s screeching protests rang shrilly through the air, joined by Theo’s surprised outcry, but it was the Dark Lord who looked the most enraged. His snakelike features distorting into a grimace of abject fury, while he fended off the killing curses. Not daring to remain a second longer, Draco drew up the image of an empty alleyway, letting the pull of the apparition sweep him and Blaise away, leaving the horrors of Malfoy Manor far behind them. 


	3. The End Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Blaise have a much needed heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely reviews and all the kudos. They really mean a lot to me. The next chapter will see a bit more action, but I hope you enjoy this one all the same.

Chapter 2 The End Part 1

Draco dragged Blaise through three consecutive apparitions before they finally staggered on the shore of a river, the thin branches of an ancient weeping willow, shielding them from the brunt of the storm, that was raging across the country. Without wasting any time to reorientate himself, Draco pulled his friend closer to him, trying to keep him steady on his feet. For now he was still high on adrenaline, alert and unfazed by the emotional and magical drain of the last few hours. Overwhelming relief about their successful escape eclipsing any symptoms of exhaustion or the tiredness that accompanied the performance of difficult spell casting. His conscience yet unburdened by any considerations regarding the heavy death toll that overshadowed most of his decisions nowadays.

The implications of saving Blaise's life at all cost, namely Draco's position as the only spy within the Dark Lord's inner circle, as straightforward as the decision might have sounded at the time, came at the expense of tens, hundreds, maybe thousands of faceless witches and wizards. Muggleborns, whose lives had relied on the invaluable insider information Draco had been able to feed the French resistance and on the time he had bought them to leave the country in peace long before the negotiations of surrender were completed. Scamander, Thomas, MacDougal and Parkinson would never be reunited with their families in France because of Draco's decision and still... He couldn't find it in himself to regret saving Blaise from Bella's murderous wrath.

_No, I'm too selfish for that. Witnessing Blaise suffer a slow, drawn out death, severing the last connection to my former self, the boy I'd been, before the crazy mass murderer got himself resurrected, is a prize I'll never be prepared to pay. I've already lost too much..._

While he was manoeuvring Blaise towards the tree trunk, he could feel him tremble in his arms, muscles contracting in painful spasms, now that Bellatrix hold on his friend had ceased. The aftermath of the Cruciatus curse no matter how weakly executed, was marked by debilitating muscle aches, with precious few possibilities to assuage the pain. Guilt was twisting Draco's insides, once again acutely aware of the fact that ultimately he had been the one to hit his friend with the torturing curse.

"Deep, slow breaths mate. Hyperventilating just makes it worse. One... two... three... Yeah, just like that." Lowering his friend on the ground, Draco moved on to the willow trunk, letting his palms glide over the rough surface of the dark bork. Nimble fingers searching for the hidden set of runes he had carved there in order to conceal his emergency stash. _Algiz_. Protection. _Eihwaz_. Transformation. _Berkana_. Growth. After he had traced the outline of the carved, protective runes, they began to glow, one after the other, and sunk deeper into the wood, revealing a crude hole that hadn't been visible until now.

Grabbing his bag with supplies, Draco let out a pained groan, the Dark Mark burning into his flesh like a glowing piece of iron. Fire licking against his skin. Crippling heat flared in his forearm, tendrils of pain radiating up into his shoulder. An unmistakable manifestation of the Dark Lord's intense fury at their successful escape from Malfoy Manor. By now, he and Bellatrix had quite obviously already realised that Draco had trapped them within the protective wards, blocking them from following him and Blaise in their thirst for vengeance.

Through the Malfoy insignia he could feel their magic slamming against the barrier, their attacks intensifying as more and more Death Eaters joined in on the fight against an invisible enemy. However, Draco had apparently underestimated the inherent power that had lain dormant within the ancient spell-work: One last glimmer of Malfoy magic, that was still nurturing the wards, before it would inevitably expire, its fire extinguished by a icy storm of curses.

As inevitable as the demise of the protective spells appeared, Draco could feel the small splinter of ancient magic respond to the new threat, the pure essence of generations of age-old magic leaving their confines of spells and energy and pouring every last drop of strength into the wards. _Sanctimonia vincet semper. Purity will always conquer_. Purity of magic, for there was no such ridiculous thing as purity of blood. Waves of power pulsing excitedly at the prospect of fulfilling their true purpose. A last hoorah. One final sacrifice. Rejoicing in its imminent doom, the protection of the last of Malfoy blood a cause worth dying for.

For the first time in a long while, Draco felt a sliver of pride in his heritage. Almost like the little boy, who had pestered his mother for stories about dragons and stars, magic and flowers, proud in his family history and ancestry. Proud to be a Malfoy. The blood of the dragons, their human counterpart. Murderous creatures, born from heat and pain. Destined to prevail, when the fires of war consumed the skies and ashes fell from the heavens like raindrops in a summer storm. When trees turned to stone and salty tears became the only source of water to graze an empty wasteland. Ferocious in their anger and fierce in their love.

_'A dragon doesn't bow to pain. A dragon conquers.'_

The words seemed to come unbidden, a mantra old as time itself, reminding Draco to push through the pain. Determinedly gritting his teeth, he sunk down besides Blaise, fiddling with the straps of his bag and -after he had finally managed to make them come loose- summoning three different potion vials from the depths of the bag. Handing the icy blue cooling draught and the luminescent numbing potion over to Blaise, who accepted them with shaky hands, Draco downed the inky black liquid in his own vial at once. The foul smelling concoction made him feel nauseous, the taste almost worse than the stench of freshly brewed polyjuice potion. However the desired effect was undeniably more than worth the unsavoury ordeal. A simple truth that got reaffirmed when Draco felt the searing heat in his arm recede, the overwhelming burning sensation slowly dying down to a faint discomfort.

_Thank Salazar for Severus' old notes._

A gush of wistfulness whirled up in Draco, at the reminder of his godfather, whose ingenuity at his craft continued to protect him, even three years after Severus had been killed during the Battle of Hogwarts: As long as he could remember, the potions master had been one of Draco's most revered idols, someone he had tried to emulate, almost as much as he had once hungered for Lucius approval or his mother's acknowledgement.

Not without cause: Even strictly objectively speaking his godfather had many fine qualities, which would have been more than enough to warrant such high esteem in their own right: For one an instinctual grasp for the difficult art of balancing fluctuating equilibria between various potion ingredients and the skilful manipulation of their combined properties, which set Severus apart as Britain's most renowned potioneer of the last two centuries. As well as duelling skills, that could easily rival a good many seasoned fighters and of course the impeccable self control and mental fortitude, commonly required from a manipulator of the human mind.

Nevertheless, Draco possessed at least enough self awareness not to delude himself into thinking that his admiration for the surly potions master had ever been based on Severus multitude of academical accomplishments or his uncontested magical prowess. His reasons were much more personal in nature, most of them originating from the fact, that the notoriously closed off wizard had been more of a father figure to him, than Lucius had ever aspired to be.

Severus had never abandoned him, no matter how insensitive or brattish Draco might have acted from time to time. Not even involuntarily, like Narcissa who had been commanded by her husband to keep her distance from their shared son. Just as any other pureblooded wife ought to do, lest she fall prey to womanly sentimentalities and, _Salazar forbid_ , coddle Draco with her affection. In stark contrast to Lucius, Draco's godfather had never given him the impression, that he was lacking something fundamental. That Draco could do nothing but be a disappointment in one way or another. Not worthy of his parents' love. A failure as a son and the scion of house Malfoy. Incapable of living up to the plethora of expectations the world had deemed to place upon his shoulders.

_Ugh... Enough with the self pity!_

Still, ever since Draco's fifth birthday, where Severus had gifted him with his very first cauldron and taken him under his wings, his godfather had been the one reliable constant in his life. A present, which had been followed by a summer filled with potions tutoring and brewing lessons at the Prince family estate in Spinner's End. The first of many, until Draco had begun his education at Hogwarts and had been free to join the many advanced brewing courses Severus offered to interested Slytherin's in his free time. It wouldn't have done that Snape's snakes delivered anything short of excellence in his own classroom.

_Not that anyone could ever meet uncle Sev's standards for excellence._

Regardless of the fact that his godfather had been a harsh taskmaster: Displaying an infamous scarcity of tolerance towards students, who lacked either the inherent passion or the stubborn commitment, which was needed in order to become at least halfway decent in the delicate art of potion making. _Cough... Potter... cough... cough..._ Draco had thrived under the potion master's tutelage, -for once not restricted by Lucius suffocating presence- soon developing a deep appreciation for the almost hypnotic process of cutting ingredients and potion brewing.

Severus' scornful reprimands had always been concise and straightforward. Shortcomings easily rectified by stubborn perseverance and dedication, whilst extraordinary achievements had been rewarded with encouragement and praise. Nothing like the toxic dichotomy between materialistic indulgence and emotional starvation, impossibly high expectations and constant disappointment, that Lucius had employed to keep his son firmly beneath his thumb.

_Merlin, it took me way longer than it should have, to realise what a monster that man truly is._

Quite ironically the incident that had finally opened Draco's eyes and made him recognise the true depths of Lucius depravity, hadn't been one of the numerous instances where one of his beatings had escalated so far that blood had been drawn. A crisscross pattern of scarlet welts etched into the pale canvas of his skin, the shallow wounds hidden beneath thickly layered glamours and the scars easily removed with a mere flick of Lucius wand.

_Of course, letting me pass out from pain was perfectly acceptable, but scarring me permanently would have been taking things just the tad too far..._

Loath as he was to admit it, as much as those punishments had hurt, in a dark and twisted way Draco had also interpreted them as prove that Lucius cared for him on some level. Otherwise, why would the older wizard even have bothered to discipline Draco for every Quidditch match he had lost against Potter, or the many times his scores at school had been just a bit lower than Granger's. He must have wanted Draco to succeed, right?

_No! Wrong... So very, very wrong! But I was terribly stupid at the time... Desperate for the smallest sign of affection from either of my parents._

Then the Quidditch World Cup Finale of Ireland vs. Romania had come around, a few weeks before the beginning of fourth year and as excited as Draco had been for the match itself, he hadn't been able to quench the rising apprehension after Lucius had declared that another momentous event had been scheduled to occur that night. A premonition that had turned into gruesome reality, when Lucius had brought him along to witness the Death Eater riot, claiming it to be the perfect opportunity for Draco to learn what it meant to be a follower of the Dark Lord. So Draco had waited in the shadows, all the while watching his father attack innocent people and revel in the humiliation they could cause a pair of muggles.

The whole display had been revolting. Sickening. Unworthy of everything the Malfoy name should have stood for and then, when Draco had thought things couldn't get any worse he had looked at the muggle woman hanging helplessly in the air. So terrified. So exposed. And for a short, fleeting moment the world had narrowed down to nothing, but her desperate pleas while he had pictured his own mother in the same situation. The woman's outcries, replaced by his mother's panicked voice. All inherent poise and dignity violently stripped from her. Sometimes Draco thought if it hadn't been for the less than pleasant run in with the Golden Trio he might have thrown up then and there.

 _Salazar, having Granger there had been a new kind of horrifying... If Lucius had seen her..._ Draco shuddered at the thought.

Nothing had been the same after that night, whatever misguided feelings of obligation Draco had held onto until then, obliterated in the wake of this newest horror Lucius had inflicted on the world. Witnessing the disgusting scene had been the proverbial straw that broke the thestrals back, causing Draco to stop justifying Lucius abuse once and for all. To quit rationalising the punishments by thinking himself inadequate. Deserving of the pain based on his own personal shortcomings... All the while treasuring the sporadic moments where Lucius felt inclined to grant him a few words of praise.

_Pitiful._

Like a faithful crup puppy dutifully lapping up the few crumps of attention its owner granted it.

_Never again!_

Draco had sworn that to himself that horrible night. Never again would he debase himself so entirely. Never again, would he revert to the person he had been before the fateful conclusion of the World Cup. To degrade himself, by wishing for the recognition of someone who was not worthy of the oxygen he breathed, much less Draco's esteem nor his loyalty. Or really the esteem of anyone who claimed to have some basic human decency, if Draco had to be perfectly candid.

_Not that I would have ever dared to express said sentiment out loud..._

_Merlin and Morgana, no..._

Draco hadn't been foolish enough to put his changed worldview into words, insanely thankful for the Occlumency lessons Severus had given him since first year. Self preservation was a deeply ingrained part of his self. One of the few principles he had never cared to abandon, except for the benefit of the small circle of people Draco considered his to protect. In public as well as in private he had gone to great lengths in order to maintain the persona of the stuck up, narcissistic pureblood heir. Had immersed himself in the role so deeply, that it had gotten increasingly difficult to differentiate between pretence and reality. To tell where his mask ended and the real Draco Malfoy began.

_Never really had a chance to figure that one out._

From time to time Draco had even contemplated to fully embrace the image he had cultivated, to loose himself behind the many walls he had erected around himself. However, whenever he had felt close to giving into that particular temptation, Draco's thoughts had inevitably travelled back to that night after the Quidditch World Cup finale. Hearing screams resonating through the night, flames licking at tent posts, broken whimpers followed by raucous laughter coming from the hooded figures. Those memories had never failed to remind Draco that there had to be more to him than merely being Lucius Malfoy's son.

Or at the very least that Draco had to try his hardest, not to become the monster his father had raised him to be.

_Less than a year later the newly resurrected Dark Lord took up residence in the Manor... Oh, the never-ending joys of being Lucius Malfoy's son... The things I've seen... The things I've done since then. Blood clinging to my hands. Blood I've shed. Lives I've ended. Enough to damn any soul to eternal misery._

Forcefully reminding himself not to dwell on the past for too long, Draco flicked his wand in order to produce a small warming bluebell flame and looked over to Blaise, whose tall form was slumped against the tree. Eyelids closed and chest rising with slow, steadying breaths. Apparently his friend had taken Draco's advice to control his breathing to heart. Now that they had escaped the Dark Lord's grasp, Blaise seemed to have deflated. Exhaustion and grief weighing on his posture like invisible chains tying him firmly to the ground. Disturbingly far removed from the proud and defiant exterior he had projected earlier, when he had straight out insulted the Dark Lord to his face in all its snakelike glory.

_Merlin, that would have been priceless if I hadn't feared for his life at the time._

There was so much Draco wanted to tell Blaise, so many things that had been left unspoken, the ghosts of missed opportunities as well as the events of the last few hours hanging heavily in the air between them: An underlying current of tension between them, which had yet to be addressed. Questions waiting to burst forward, their fragile illusion of temporary peace threatening to implode at any given moment.

Not really sure how to initiate a conversation, Draco ruffled his fingers through his hair in a rare display of nervousness, before raising his wand in order to summon a second round of potions as well as a small flask of fire whiskey. "You look like you should give those another go... The fire whiskey as well. Helps to take the edge off."

_Trust me, I have plenty of experience on the Cruciatus front... Has been a while, but some things are not that easily forgotten._

Cracking his eyes open, Blaise shot Draco a long measuring look, his black eyes darting down towards the set of vials, the blonde wizard was holding out in his direction. The bright, wavering light of the bluebell flame illuminated his friend's features, giving his dark skin a ghostly, almost ethereal quality, before he inclined his head thoughtfully and replied through slightly clenched teeth. "Just... the whiskey'll do for now. It's not that bad, really... nothing like the damage your _dearest aunt_ would have been so delighted to inflict. No need to waste perfectly fine potions on a problem that will sort itself out in due time."

Draco winced a bit at the reminder, echoes of Blaise's pained outcries once again bouncing through his skull, before he got a grip of himself and rolled his eyes in an exasperated display of reluctant amusement. If his Italian friend thought, that two measly cooling draughts and a few pain numbing potions would affect his potion stocks even in the slightest, then he had either seriously underestimated Draco's survival instincts or his capability of foresight.

"For Salazar's sake, Blaise just take the bloody potions already, as amusing as your inclination towards Hufflepuff niceties tend to be, there's really no need for fucking martyrdom..." Lips curling into a lopsided smirk, Draco pressed the vials in Blaise's hands, while taking a small sip from the fire whiskey himself, welcoming the slight burning sensation it caused in the back of his throat. Teasing Blaise about the fact that the ruddy old hat had wanted to put him into Hufflepuff would _never_ get old. An universal truth that got once more confirmed, when the stunned expression of Draco's friend morphed into one of faux outrage, not fully concealing the faintest hint of a smile that tugged at his lips.

Hardly a monumental shift in Blaise's downtrodden mood, but in the light of recent events Draco was inclined to count it as a small victory. Motioning down to the worn-down bag, he stated with a slightly self satisfied expression. "In here are enough potions to supply a full blown army for more than a year, if need be. Seeing as we are just a handful of people, the two cooling draughts won't be missed."

_Better safe than sorry. A few safety precautions never hurt anyone._

As a matter of fact Draco had been preparing for a situation like this for a very long time, well aware but simply choosing to disregard the bitter truth that his chances of ever getting as far as he had tonight, had been rather dismal to begin with. From the very first moment of this war Draco's survival had never been exceptionally likely and his decision to spy on the most gifted Legilimens and Dark Wizard of their time had certainly done nothing to better his odds.

And to be perfectly honest, most of the scenarios Draco had been picturing when he had allowed himself to think about his possible defection from the Death Eater ranks, had revolved around being involuntarily ousted as a spy and bloodtraitor by one of the Dark Lord's ardent supporters. Presumably followed instantly by a quick Avada Kedavra, always provided said wizard was in an sufficiently charitable mood, or drawn out torture sessions if that was not the case. The possibility to reveal his true allegiances on his own terms, had never even crossed his mind before.

_Comme toujours reality stumps even the wildest of expectations..._

Nevertheless, in spite of his heartfelt scepticism, Draco had not been able to deny himself the faint flicker of hope, that he might just make it out of his Death Eater career alive. Which was the main reason why his rather inconspicuous leather bag contained a sizeable amount of potion vials, -four years worth of brewing to be exact-, a wide variety of potions ingredients, as well as multiple rare tomes 'borrowed' from the Malfoy library.

To top it all off he had assembled an impressive selection of powerful magical artefacts: Priceless family heirlooms, collected from the Manor as well as the Malfoy and Black vaults. Their disappearance covered up by detailed replicas which Draco had transformed in order to replace the originals. After all he had to make sure that neither Lucius nor Bella noticed anything suspicious.

_The other, much less optimistic, reason being, that I wanted to provide for her in some way or the other... for both of them, really... Even if I had died, she would have known where to find the hidden stash. A last token of my affection. Many of the Malfoy treasures should have been hers by right, anyway._

Now that Draco had revealed himself, there was no longer a reason to keep those precious trinkets to under wraps. The sole reason why he hadn't handed them to her already had been because of the secretive nature of their connection. Proudly wearing the Malfoy or even the Black family crest would have been a less than subtle gesture. Potentially endangering his position as a spy and most likely alienating her from her fellow Order members.

Although, in a rather inopportune twist of fate, Draco realised a bit belatedly, that many of the Malfoy artefacts would probably loose their inherent powers as soon as the heart piece of their ancestral magic was destroyed, i.e. before the end of the night. The magics of old, which had been imprinted into the wood, stone and metal work behaved in such curious ways from time to time, their strength entirely reliant on the continued existence of their original energy source.

_No time to cry over spilled cauldrons, I suppose._

Draco's gaze drifted back to his friend, who was leaning tensely against the tree trunk and had just downed the second dose of his potions. Rigidness draining from Blaise's shoulders, followed closely by a relieved sigh, the quiet noise almost inaudible against the steady tripper trapper of the raindrops drumming against the leave adorned branches of the willow. Handing over the flask full of fire whiskey, Draco inched a bit closer towards his friend, concernedly noting the vacant blankness of Blaise's features. "Two or three sips should suffice. Such a small amount won't interfere with the potions you've already consumed."

Taking a big gulp of the golden liquid, Blaise closed his eyes for a short moment, visibly savouring the warming bite of the smokey whiskey. When he finally met Draco's gaze, there was a faint upturn to his lips, just the barest indication of fondness. "Some things never change, do they? Still the same bloody potions swot."

"Guilty as charged." A flicker of longing crossed Draco's features, the age-old familiarity of the exchange transporting his mind back in time, to the days at Hogwarts where Blaise and Pansy would tease him relentlessly about his enthusiasm for Severus' subject. For years the castle had offered him reprieve and sanctuary: An escape from Lucius' harshness and later the sadistic madman with his sycophantic entourage that the former Malfoy patriarch had so foolishly invited into their home.

Nowadays nothing but smoking ruins throned above the Black Lake, rubble and tattered strands of magic the only remnants of the once shining castle. Fallen because of the Dark Lord's ire at Potter's success to evade his wrath after the Battle of Hogwarts. Apparently ordering the death of Draco's mother, who had enabled 'The Chosen One's' escape, had not been nearly enough to quench the Dark Lord's thirst for vengeance. Therefore the dark wizard had ordered his army to destroy the castle, to raze it to the ground, another symbol of hope quite literally smattered to dust.

"Merlin and Morgana, Draco." Draco's head snapped back to Blaise, whose hand was still clenched tightly around the smooth metal of the flask, his deep voice hoarse and dripping with incredulity. The usually so smooth aristocratic features displaying an atypical amount of shock, now that the lingering pain seemed to be under control. "Do you have a death wish, or something? Not that I'm not grateful for your help or anything, but you never pegged me as the type for Gryffindor recklessness."

_You are one to talk! I didn't see you mincing your words in front of the Dark Lord._

Snorting indignantly, Draco shook his head, suppressing a grin when he noticed the small hand gestures that reliably reemerged whenever Blaise felt passionate about a particular subject. The habit easily recognisable as a remnant of Blaise's Italian heritage and the childhood spent in the coastal cities of southern Italy, before his mother Signora Vivian Alcina Zabini decided to relocate their permanent residence to London. Exchanging the smouldering heat of Italy for the stormy tristesse of the British Isles; a decision Blaise had bemoaned repeatedly to anyone who had cared to listen.

"Recklessness..." Somehow the word felt strangely foreign on his tongue. Cruel. Cunning. Coldhearted. Those were the attributes that people tended to associate with him, or with the Malfoy name in general, and for good reasons too... Draco had to admit as much. But never before had anyone accused him of having anything in common with one of those bleeding-heart Gryffindor dunderheads, who ran headfirst into danger without sparing any thought on the consequences of their actions.

"There was nothing reckless about saving you, Blaise. Our escape was definitely drastic, I'll admit as much... Perhaps, you could even describe it as bold, but reckless? Whatever might be misconstrued as recklessness was merely a product of extraordinary circumstances. Circumstances which in turn called for extraordinary measures. Trust me, if I had _recklessly_ allowed my impulses to override my better judgement, we would have apparated here much earlier, way before..."

Draco trailed off, unable or maybe just unwilling to complete the last sentence. Gnawing guilt flooded his senses, making his breath hitch and his fingers fidget at his side. Refusing to meet Blaise's eyes, fearing to see the resentment lurking in their depths, Draco swallowed heavily, Adam's apple bobbing. "Let's just say I've never wanted to cause you any pain. Never. In any capacity, whatsoever. Unfortunately regardless of my personal feelings on the matter, I knew that I had to bide my time and sort out our escape route before I could even think about helping you. Otherwise the Dark Lord and Bella would have recaptured the two of us faster than either of us could have said 'Quidditch'."

Taking a deep breath Draco shot a glance at his friend who was staring at him openly, quite evidently stunned by Draco's unexpected attempt at candidness. Even in their early Hogwarts days, the scion of House Malfoy hadn't been known to divulge any personal information of his own accord, stone-faced and secretive, the epitome of the well groomed pureblood heir. "So I waited and I hurt you and I hated every second of it. But I don't regret it, because now we are safe... or at the very least as safe as anyone can claim to be nowadays. It was the right thing to do. The only plan that had any chance to succeed... and still, I'll never be able to remember this day, without being reminded of the fact that I had to fucking torture my best friend before I could safe him. Recklessness..."

 _Recklessness is one of the many factors that cost us the war in the first place._ Draco thought, not without feeling a knot of bitterness tightening in his stomach. _So many key players on the Light side were former Gryffindors... Way too easily enthused by the promise of glorious acts on the battlefield or the chance to showcase their heroics without wasting any thoughts on common sense and rationality. Always more than willing to fight a hopeless battle against the odds, instead of having the foresight to tip the scales in their favour beforehand. If just one of them would have thought politically or strategically instead of blindly believing Dumbledore's cryptic ramblings about prophecies and whatnot things, could have ended up differently._

Children should not have been the ones to bear the burdens of this war, shouldn't have had to wrestle with choices that decided over life and death, before they had finished they had even left school, their decisions forced and manipulated by the two most powerful wizards of their time. Their innocence sacrificed on the altar of power, mere pawns in the struggle of Dark and Light. Salazar, Potter had been eleven, when he had faced the Dark Lord for the first time, Granger twelve when she had gotten petrified because of her blood status and Draco himself a handful of days short of his fifteenth birthday, when the Dark Lord had claimed the Manor as his seat of residence. Child soldiers in a conflict that had brought no one anything but pain and misery.

With those thoughts still fresh in his mind, Draco allowed some of his bitterness to bleed into his derisive voice, as he continued with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Recklessness... is just the easiest way out. The one where you can stay safely in your precious bubble of self-righteousness, instead of considering the possible ramifications and then having to act accordingly... No matter how much the rational choice may weigh on your conscience. Nothing... Not a single thing about this whole bloody mess was in any sense of the word easy, but I swear I wouldn't change a singly thing, if I had to do it all over again. You are alive... we are both alive... and that's already more than I had dared to hope, when Lucius and Theo brought you to the Dark Lord earlier."

Merlin, it had been entirely too long since he had been able to share his thoughts so openly. To freely speak his mind, without the stale taste of lies and deceit clinging to his tongue. For a moment silence seemed to have descended over them once again, seeing as Draco felt slightly sheepish at his uncharacteristic bluntness and Blaise had visible difficulties to sort through the various threads of information Draco had carefully woven into his monologue.

_How many questions he must have right now..._

After a short pause, air charged with a multitude of unspoken emotions, Blaise's eyebrows knitted together as if deep in thought, before he shot Draco an inquiring look. "Caspita, Draco, how long? How long have you been spying on the Dark Lord? No one would ever dare to betray him on a whim. Not like this. Not even for family and you haven't talked to me ever since..." Understanding began to wash over Blaise's face, dark orbs widening as he hedged hesitantly. "Oh... So... Is that the reason why you distanced yourself after the Battle? What you did tonight wouldn't have worked if anyone had suspected any ties of loyalty between us..."

Barking out a laugh, Draco allowed himself to relax a bit, before he stated with a self deprecating smile. "You mean if I knew three years prior, that you'd need my help tonight? Gosh, I really wished I could claim to have that kind of foresight. Would fit rather well, with the rumoured tinge of seer blood in my family, don't you think? However, to answer your first question: Five years. Give or take a few months."

Blaise let out an appreciative whistle, the noise mingling with the rumbling thunder that vibrated through the night air. "That's what? Sixth grade? Mighty long time without getting caught."

"I was careful." Draco shrugged. Sending a faint grin in Blaise's direction, he scolded, voice torn between seriousness and reluctant amusement. "By the way, no offence mate, but journal entries... Seriously? That's such a Hufflepuff mistake to make. We just got lucky that Lucius chose to be his usual spiteful self and wanted to rub it in, that one of my former friends turned out to be a 'filthy little blood traitor'."

Mentioning Lucius brought a scowl on Blaise's face, features darkening with such abject hatred and underlying heartbreak that Draco hurried to supply. "He's dead. Or at least as good as ... We uh... had a bit of an altercation, when the two of them turned up with you. I hit him with a curse that'll slowly consume any trace of his magic. There's no known cure, even if someone identifies the curse correctly, which is highly doubtful. It'll need a few weeks to take effect, but he's going to die from it eventually.''

_Good thing I finished that tonight..._

"Mondo cane! You killed your father? Tonight?" Draco felt himself stiffen at the question, answering with a brisk nod, although there was no accusation in Blaise's voice. His expression portraying a wild mixture of undefinable emotions, positive as well as negative until it settled on some sort of grim satisfaction. Clapping him on the shoulder, Draco's friend stated simply. "Well, good for you, mate. Can't say I'm sorry to see him gone." Swallowing thickly, he added, eyes growing distant. "Charlie... Fuck Draco... It's all my fucking fault! If I hadn't... And look at you... You had to defy the Dark Lord on my behalf, because I was too bloody stupid to change the wards after the break up with Theo. I'd have never thought..."

"Don't!" Draco's order cut sharply through Blaise's ramblings, effectively stopping his friend from dissolving into hysterics. He would be damned if he allowed Blaise to drown himself in grief and self loathing. Blaming himself wouldn't bring the dragon taming Weasel brother back from the dead and at least judging by the memories Draco had seen so far... "We... uh... Charlie wouldn't have wanted you to blame yourself, Blaise." His mothers face flashed briefly in his mind as he elaborated with a slightly softened voice, his own regrets once more resurfacing. "You both knew the risks and he died trying to get you both to safety. That's a better death than most of us get."

"As for myself... Slytherins protect their own and Circe, since Theo turned out to be a prejudice-blinded bastard, you might just be the only friend I've left in this whole doomed hellhole of a country. You're my best mate, more of a brother really than a friend and I'll be damned if I watch anymore people I care about being killed, while I stand by and do nothing."

_After seventh year I promised myself that I would never do that again..._

Not that Draco made it a habit to think about seventh year. Quite the opposite in fact. The memories of that time were still too painful, too deeply trenched in pain, grief and gut wrenching fear, to process them consciously. Days. Weeks. Months. Blurring to a haze, a series of nightmarish sequences shortly interrupted by foggy interludes of make believe normalcy, before starting all over again. A never ending stream of horrors, which had culminated in Granger's torture at Malfoy Manor, quickly followed by the Battle of Hogwarts, where he had lost both Severus and his mother, their deaths barely more than an hour apart.

Draco had buried their corpses side by side, the two people who had both formed him into the man he had to become that day, their parental love a flicker of light that had been ripped away from him. Lost. Drowned in an ocean of regrets and sorrow. Unable to bear the thought of laying his mother to rest in the tomb, she had been entitled to share with her husband: Her body magically preserved in eternal beauty. Locked away beneath heavy slabs of polished marble and ancient statues. Destined to share her grave with her own murderer. Draco had used the general confusion after the battle to transport her and Severus, to his mother's favourite part of the adjacent forest.

Beneath ancient oaks and ash trees, his sweat mingling with tears Draco had thrust a spade into the dark earth again... and again... and again, until his eyes had run dry and his hands had burned like fire. Blisters emerging on his palms, flesh laid bare by the sweet friction of the coarse wood against his skin. The stinging pain and physical strain a more than welcome distraction from the despair he had felt twisting inside of him, threatening to swallow him whole, at the slightest indication of reprieve.

To this day Draco had no idea what had initially possessed him to dig their graves the muggle way, stubbornly refusing to use any kind of magic until even the last spadeful of earth had been carefully layered above the bodies, even though he had never regretted the decision. Somehow it had felt right, more meaningful, the hours of monotonous labour strangely cathartic. Only once Draco had been finished, had he drawn his wand, marking their graveside with a field of ever blooming angel's tears and asphodel.

_It's pathetic, really... The things I've seen.. The things I've done, since then... And still, none of them have the ability to affect me, the way the memories of seventh year do... None of them haunt my nights over and over again, whenever I dare to close my eyes._

Images flashed before his inner eye: Crimson letters carved crudely into flesh, tears of blood dripping on the marble floor. Granger's screams reverberating through the ancient halls of Malfoy Manor, until her vocal cords grew hoarse, her voice reduced to a heart clenching whimper. Lucius' destructive fury upon discovering Narcissa's deception of the Dark Lord. Bellatrix' cackling laughter as Nagini's fangs sliced through Draco's chest and the resignation on Severus' face before his body lit up, bright green light enveloping Draco's godfather in a deathly embrace.

_No._

_I have to stay focused._

Noticing the doubtful expression that had overtaken Blaise's face, he decided to try a different approach. It was understandable that his friend would be sceptical of Draco's claims of investment in their friendship, after years without any form of contact. Sighing deeply, he explained. "With the exception of Bellatrix who is in an entirely different league, there's no Death Eater who the Dark Lord holds in higher esteem than me and that's by no means an exaggeration."

_As much as I wished it was..._

A shudder travelled through his body as he remembered the Dark Lords proposition from earlier that night. "Merlin, before we got interrupted by your arrival, he told me in no uncertain terms, that I was to become his second in command. The Black Prince to his Dark Lord or some bullshit like that. Can you imagine what he would have done if he ever discovered my deceit? That I made a fool out of him? Believe me, mate, in his eyes not even torturing me to death would have been enough of a punishment."

Blaise's dark skin paled eerily in the blue light, dark eyes widening as the implications of Draco's words slowly registered in his mind. Unable to stop, now that he had already begun to reveal his reasoning for their estrangement, Draco pressed on, willing Blaise to, if not forgive then at least understand his thoughts on the matter. "No, the Dark Lord would have wanted me to break... To prove to the world and most of all himself that he wasn't bested by a boy who had barely finished his schooling. What would have been a more effective way, than using the people I care about against me? After all I only became a Death Eater, because my mother's life depended on my cooperation."

Meeting Blaise's shellshocked gaze, Draco tilted his head slightly, a storm brewing behind his steel-grey eyes. With a vehemence that startled them both, Draco stated firmly. "It doesn't take a Legilimens to see that Lucius and I loath each other with a passion. After the Battle... Maman and uncle Sev... There's no family left that he could have tortured as my punishment. None that he knows of anyway. Which left you and Theo, my two closest friends who, in contrast to Pansy and the Greengrass sisters, hadn't left for the States relatively early on. I couldn't risk you like that. So I kept to myself and secretly checked up on you from time to time."

Whatever reaction Draco had expected at the end of his rather passionate speech, being enveloped by Blaise's arms, who gave him a bone crushing hug, was NOT one of them. However, he quickly gave in, tightening his hold on his friend, not only relishing in the comfortable warmth that radiated from his friend but also the symbolic reassurance of their friendship. "Merlin, I missed you mate."

A promise that there was still some light left in their future, in spite of the fact that the horrors of war had irrevocably tainted their lives. That even in the aftermath of death and pain, there could be friendship and forgiveness. Like life-giving spring following the icy throws of winter.

They stayed that way for a while before Blaise slumped back, his limps presumably still aching from the Cruciatus curse. An almost content smile played around his lips, even if it was mixed with fatigue and lingering sorrow. "You've no idea how much I secretly hoped that someone had managed to get the girls out of here. Better than to believe that all of them were killed in Order attacks. Panse made it to the States then?"

"She thought the portkey would take her to France, but at the time there was already talk of the upcoming invasion. Send her straight to the Greengrass girls." The two wizards exchanged a knowing grin, both revelling in the short moment of shared levity and joy for their friends good fortune.

Taking another swig from the flask, which prompted Draco to snatch it straight out of his fingers as soon as Blaise had finished, we really don't need him to get drunk right now, Blaise asked with raised eyebrows? "So what's the plan? We are waiting for someone, aren't we?" Draco raised one of his eyebrows delicately, an unspoken question that Blaise answered with a scoff. "As much as I enjoy this long overdue tête-à-tête, the location strikes me as rather odd longtime solution. I know you mate, you don't do simplistic... Opulence is almost as prevalent in your blood as murderous tendencies are in mine and this place..." He made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the whole willow cove. "...as picturesque as it is, is not even close to your standards."

_Blaise and murderous tendencies, that's an oxymoron if I've ever heard one. His mother on the other hand is an entirely different story._

Feigning hurt, Draco put on an insulted expression, secretly pleased about Blaise's relaxed attitude. Bumping against his friend's side playfully, careful not to put too much pressure on already aching muscles, he smirked. "Ah, how you wound me, Blaise... I'll let you know, I can live with much worse than this place, if need be." To be honest he was slightly impressed by Blaise's quite observant, if not fully accurate, deduction. Quirking his eyebrows curiously, Draco asked. "So you don't feel it then? I must admit, that I had wondered if you would pick up on it."

"Feeling wh... Oh..." The confusion drained from Blaise's face, quite obviously picking up on the humming vibrations of magic around them. Letting his gaze wander over their surroundings, Draco's friend stated thoughtfully. "I thought it might have been a side effect of the potions... That you've enhanced the formula of the cooling draught in order to restore magical energy as well. Wouldn't have surprised me at all, but it's something else altogether, isn't it? Something about this place in particular..." His voice trailed off.

Nodding approvingly, Draco elaborated, placing one of his palms on the rough surface of the tree trunk and enjoying the warm prickling of energy the direct contact sent tingling through his skin. "Two Leigh lines are coming together right underneath this tree... Just a small crossing, mind you. Nothing in comparison to the Manor or Hogwarts, of course, but in turn the magic is raw and pure, not channeled into wards or architecture. The resulting energy is powerful enough to level out minor energy deficiencies, which is one of the reasons why I apparated us out here."

Pressing his own hand against the tree, Blaise breathed out. Awe colouring his voice. It was not an everyday occurrence to stumble upon one of the junctions where the magic veins of the earth came together. To find one that wasn't keyed into magical communities for warding, even rarer. "Remarkable..." However it wasn't long before he turned back to Draco, asking him with a sly grin. "But don't think I've missed your effort to change the subject, Draco. Who is she, mate?"

"She?"

Dumbfounded Draco stared at his best friend, who huffed impatiently. "Yes, she... As in a woman... You've heard me the first time." Flashing him a smirk, the Italian said confidently. "Oh... Don't play coy with me Draco. I'll personally eat a whole Quidditch team worth of broomsticks if there's no woman involved in all of this. Otherwise you would have surely left the country by now... Idealistic foolishness isn't really one of your most pronounced character traits, but you would stay and risk your life for someone you consider under your protection. Family is out of the equation, friends too, which only leaves a love interest"

_Sweet Salazar, since when is Blaise so perceptive?_

Draco could feel the heat rising to his face and presumably painting his cheeks bright red in embarrassment. Good grief, did Blaise have to be so terribly accurate? Nonetheless, Draco wasn't one to give in that easily, not when Blaise would undoubtedly tease him mercilessly as soon as he discovered the truth. Cursing his traitorous pale complexion under his breath, Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised his pale eyebrows challengingly. "Obviously there are a few things you don't know about my family Blaise."

"What are you..." A loud pang rippled through the night air, closer than any thunder could possibly be, causing both heads to snap in the direction of the network of branches that obscured the view to the shore of the river. Time seemed to stop as they parted, allowing the lithe form of a woman to step into view, her long hair cascading around her. Without a second thought Draco jumped to his feet, ignoring the sounds of astonishment that came from Blaise's direction and closed the distance that separated him from the new comer. As he pulled her into a tight embrace, he couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips.

_Impeccable timing as always._


	4. The End Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna arrives on the scene and Draco looks back on his Hogwarts days... namely his attraction to a certain bushy haired witch...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies,
> 
> I know, I initially promised more action in this chapter, but then my writing got a little out of hand I guess. Which is the main reason why I decided to split the rest of chapter 2 in two parts, leaving this upload mainly dealing with the introduction of Luna and what one could easily describe as a quite comprehensive history of Draco's feelings towards Hermione... So be warned... Thousands of words of fairly unapologetic Dramione pining ahead. There's also heavy foreshadowing for one of the big upsets in the next part of the chapter and I'd be more than interested in your guesses.
> 
> Luna is Draco's cousin in this version of events, although I am quite aware that such a connection doesn't coincide with canon. I just really liked the idea and the physical attributes were already eerily similar, their connection will become a focal point, when I've finally brought this story to the new timeline :) There's just so much set up to be done in order to explain the AU elements of the story... I am already thinking of adding a few oneshots from different POV's for important events like the Battle of Hogwarts etc...
> 
> Thanks for the reviews/favorites/follows. They really do mean a lot to me and the feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Rather unfortunately, but life's life I guess: I do not own any rights to the Harry Potter universe.

"Luna."

_Merlin, you have no idea how much I missed you, little cousin._

"Dragon." Warmth flooded him at the muffled sound of her voice, floating through the air like an unsung melody, conveying equal parts elation and devastating sorrow. The contrasting emotions caused Draco's heart to throb painfully in his chest, as he pressed her protectively against him, his right hand carefully rubbing soothing circles into the rigid muscles of her shoulders. Efforts which were soon rewarded with a shaky sigh as she buried her face deeper in the crook of his neck, wetness prickling his skin: Tears flowing freely down her cheeks, leaving a glistening trail of heartbreak in their wake.

"Shh... shh... Everything's gonna be alright, ma petite étoile. Shh..." Tilting his head back in order to get a better look at her, Draco tenderly brushed one of Luna's long, stray locks behind her ear, marvelling at the almost white shade of platinum blond so remarkably similar to his own. Almost like spun strands of pure moonlight, capturing the unfiltered essence of her namesake and emitting an otherworldly shine. All the more pronounced in the flickering light of the bluebell flame. Gently Draco wiped the tears from Luna's cheeks just as another sob wracked her body, her usual aura of detached serenity shattered by the harsh brutality of recent grief.

"Shh... Whatever it is, we'll find a way to deal with it. We always do." Concern and worry erasing any semblance of comfort Draco might have derived from the knowledge that Luna was at least physically unharmed, as he did his very best to calm her. His soothing tone belying the inner turmoil he felt at seeing his calm and collected cousin in such a devastated state. To say that Luna's despair was troublesome would have been a massive understatement, even putting his brotherly feelings of protectiveness aside. Not even Weasley's final betrayal had been enough to throw Luna off balance, so what could have happened to break her usually unyielding countenance so thoroughly?

 _Death._ The, at the moment highly unwelcome, rational part of his brain supplied, despite Draco's vehement refusal to acknowledge the obvious deduction just yet. _She acts as if she's lost someone very dear to her heart._

After a few more moments Luna's sobs subsided and she extricated herself from his grasp, slowly shaking her head with a devastated expression, dark blue eyes still sparkling with unshed tears. Finality coloured her voice as she told him with a sad quirk of her lips. "I fear Mira's wondrous light isn't so easily subverted, Draco. Some deaths have been mapped out in the stars and its nothing but my own girlish foolishness to lament destiny, to mourn and cry for things that never were and never would've been in this lifetime. Oftentimes knowledge is the biggest curse of all."

_Deaths? So I had it right, when I surmised that she has lost someone..._

_But who?_

_A lover? A friend? Family?_

_What if...?_

_No! It can't be!_

_It can't..._

To even consider the possibility caused Draco's heart to beat frantically against his chest, his breath catching in his throat and stomach twisting in paralysing anxiety. Merlin knows, he should have considered the possibility much sooner, but he had been so preoccupied with the immediate necessity to ease Luna's pain that any other conscious thought had instantaneously evaporated from his mind. However, now, after Draco had regained some of his faculties, the ghastly reality that one of his biggest fears might have come true, slammed into him with the unruly brutality of a herd of wild Hippogriffs.

This was war. A war fought in blood as red as wine and paid with innumerable lives of innocents, and yet, Draco had never seen his younger cousin bemoan the weight of the world before tonight. Had never seen her crumble under the crippling pain and misery that followed in the wake of any war. Whoever had died and left Luna in this state of utmost distress must have been very dear to her indeed, which made the unthinkable all the more likely.

"Luna, is she...?"

Helplessly Draco trailed off, his eyes squeezing shut as if to brace himself for a physical blow. He could not look at Luna now. Not when she had not yet confirmed that this nightmare could turn into reality. If his fears rang true, Draco would very much prefer to allow himself a few precious seconds of bittersweet denial, so much better than seeing the pity rise in Luna's eyes... Her fairylike features betraying the damning truth, even before the cursed words had had the chance to leave her lips and Luna had shattered Draco's world with nothing but a devastated look.

_Please. Please don't let it be her. It would be an all too cruel twist of fate that the day which grants me a first, unexpected taste of freedom, could also mark the death of the only woman I ever..._

No! Draco didn't dare to voice it, even in the privacy of his own mind. So long had he thought his chances of sharedhappiness nonexistent: What would be the benefit of finally putting his feelings into thoughts, when the next few seconds might easily wield the final blow to his already battered soul? Acknowledging the faint flicker of hope that had sneaked its way into his heart, before Luna had appeared at the willow in such a distraught state, would only serve to increase the pain and misery that followed when his fears turned out to be justified.

_Just please... Please don't let it be her._

"Oh no... Dragon. I didn't want you to think..." Horror laced Luna's soft voice and Draco hesitantly pried his eyes open in order to judge her sincerity. Taking in his cousin's worried expression, lips twitching with an unspoken apology, he felt some of the crushing weight lifting from his shoulders. "No, she is... well. Or at least as well as the circumstances allow her to be. Alive, but grieving. To lose hope in a world such as ours, is a terrible thing."

_Alive._

Inhaling a shuddering breath, Draco welcomed the tidal wave of relief that crashed over him, washing his unfounded fears away.

_She's alive._

He was only very faintly aware that there had been more information attached to Luna's revelation, as another quite alarming thought crossed his mind, making his heart stutter in his chest.

_And I'm going to see her soon..._

The prospect of talking to Hermione Jean Granger, the Brightest Witch of her Age and unapologetic know it all swot felt decidedly surreal. Actually talking to her, just like he had once dreamed of doing, way before the Dark Lord's reign of terror had destroyed any fleeting chances Draco might have had to win her favour. Not taunting her in the hallways for appearances sake, and sneer at her in their shared classroom, all the while secretly watching her from afar, whenever he had had the slightest opportunity to do so without risking to rouse the suspicion from his housemates and subsequently Lucius.

Almost ten years had passed, since their first encounter on the Hogwarts Express, when she had stumbled into his compartment in all her bushy haired and adorably talkative glory. So obviously genuine in her excitement, rambling excitedly about spells and a toad that Longbottom the stupid dunderhead had somehow managed to misplace, not ten minutes after the train had left the station. A very far cry from the refined and still overzealous air most of the pureblood witches, who had until then made up the entirety of Draco's acquaintance, surrounded themselves with.

_Sweet Salazar, that boy was a walking disaster... Even if he has certainly grown into his own since then..._

Rather ironically, at least in light of their, later on, almost infamous animosity towards each other: Granger's unquenchable enthusiasm and wide-eyed wonder had both strongly reminded him of Pansy's easily excitable loquacious personality, which of course only ever resurfaced in the company of her most trusted longtime friends. According to Lady Parkinson, her daughter's unfortunate inclination towards passionate outbursts and incessant chattering had been more than unbefitting for the young heiress of the quite sizeable Parkinson fortune. Her mother's near-constant state of scornful disapproval, making it necessary for Pansy to conceal her true self, by playing up the simpering, air-headed fool, whenever they had been in public.

' _A woman shall be seen not heard!' And all that nonsense... Possibly the only positive thing that can be said about Bella, is that she was never anyone to bow down to social norms or submitted to the conventions of her time. Black witches are certainly not to be trifled with! Stubbornness runs even more rampant than madness in that family._

Anyway, Granger's lack of observance of any of the ancient pureblood customs and traditional introductory rituals had immediately ousted her as an outsider. Either a blood traitor, halfblood or even worse a mudblood. Hardly more significant than the dirt beneath their shoes. Unworthy of the stolen magic she had no right to wield, her mere existence desecrating the time-honoured halls of the same school that had housed so many generations of their ancestors. Representative of everything Theo and Pansy and Draco himself had been taught to despise and abhor.

Suffice to say that their reception of the strange bucktoothed girl had been frosty at best, not yet impolite but highly reserved, although Draco had secretly admired her spirit and the seemingly effortless confidence she had projected. After all, Malfoys are supposedly drawn to strength and power, like moths to a flame. Seeing Granger sorted into Gryffindor had even caused a small twinge of disappointment to settle in his gut, not that he would have ever admitted as much out loud.

_Figures that she had to go and get herself sorted into the one house that had a longstanding feud with mine..._

Over the course of their first year at Hogwarts, Draco had observed Granger with growing frustration. The witch had been an enigma. Unfathomable. A mudblood, supposedly inferior not only to him, but to any pureblooded witch or wizard and still she had quickly established herself as the best of her year, incontestably a girl of remarkable intelligence. For Merlin's sake, Draco had heard her ever-expanding list of academical achievements being compared to Dumbledore's own accomplishments, on more than one occasion. Hushed whispers circulating between the teachers, either with a thinly veiled note of concern or open worry. Strong talent in one so young, had always held the potential to spark controversy: For, as Draco had overheard McGonagall telling Flitwick, 'Absolute power has the tendency to corrupt absolutely'.

 _'Loads of dragon dung!'_ Draco had thought at the time, almost insulted on Granger's behalf. _Goody two shoes Granger is nothing if not a picture of self-righteous morality. To consider her easily corruptible must be the joke of the century._

Reluctant as Draco had been to acknowledge that any muggleborn witch could pose an academical challenge to someone of his pedigree, even he had to concede eventually that Granger had been a more than worthy opponent. Earning a score that came a very close second to hers, all the while far surpassing the rest of their peers, should have filled Draco with pride and a sense of accomplishment. Not damn him to nights upon nights of restless sleep, because the stupid swot's indisputable magical competence had cast doubt upon the fundamental truths which had dictated Draco's perception of the magical world for as long as he could remember. Chipping away at his strongly held beliefs and ingrained prejudices, one perfect transfiguration essay and faultless wand-movement at a time.

_An unpolished ruby amongst the rubble._

That's how Granger had appeared to him that year. Exceptional. Obviously not on the same level as a pureblood witch or wizard, much less the offspring of the Sacred 28, minus the Weasleys for rather obvious reasons, in her continued ignorance of their customs, traditions and the magics of old. But still, undeniably unique and powerful, regardless of her less than favourable ancestry. Far above the remaining masses of undeserving cretins, who were so terribly eager to replace centuries of tradition within the blink of an eye, sacrilegiously distorting the druidic Samhain rites into a muggle appropriate Halloween feast and the Yule celebrations into a Christian caricature of their true meaning.

Arguably the only thing that had put her remarkable intellect somehow into question had been her increasingly mind-boggling attachment to Weaselbee and Potter, both the very epitome of easily provoked Gryffindor dunderheads. Hardly a fitting match for the brightest witch of the last few centuries, especially since they quite evidently relied heavily on her aid regarding their assigned schoolwork. Seeing her with the, in Draco's eyes, utterly undeserving _duo infernale_ , had stung quite a bit, in particular with someone as overrated as Potter, who had already had half the school swooning at his feet for no logical reason whatsoever.

_'I think I can tell the right sort for myself...'_

Ugh. Potter had always been rather talented in delivering verbal blows, lacking any style or subtlety of course, but nonetheless effective in their bluntness and if Draco had not gotten over their silly schoolyard rivalry years ago, he might not have been able to resist to point out the incredibly delicious irony of the Chosen One's choice of words. Seeing as it had been the very same Weasel who Potter had defended on the Hogwarts Express, that had turned out to be every inch the foul, loathsome, little cockroach the Gryffindor Princess had once accused Draco of being. Selling out his friends and his entire family like the spineless little rodent, he was... uh... had been.

_One of the very few kill's I don't regret even a little bit..._

As usual the mere thought of that unworthy excuse of a flobberworm, who had been responsible for the death of so many innocents, made Draco's blood boil with rage and he struggled to banish the memories of the closely following massacres from his mind. Never mind the price the disgusting pervert had had the nerve to ask from the Dark Lord for his so successful services as a turncoat.

_That's a secret I intend to take with me through the veil..._

Granted, regarded with the eyes of a twenty one years old, less elitist and non pureblood conformist Draco Malfoy, Potter's blatant rejection of his offered hand in friendship and the resulting animosity between them had been partially understandable. He would be the very first to concede that he might have acted as stuck-up and arrogant as humanly possible, in a poorly timed attempt to imitate Lucius' handling of such matters. And yes, admittedly there had been ulterior motives on Draco's part, since befriending Harry Potter had been included in Lucius rather extensive list of instructions and demands for the upcoming school year. Their fulfilment an obligation rather than an option, readily enforced with the threat of merciess punishment dangling over his head.

However, contrary to popular believe, Draco had never been one to extend an offer of friendship lightheartedly. Alliances had the inherent potential to shift and crumble under duress or a change in priorities, but friendship... Friendship went much deeper than the odd pureblood acquaintance. Carrying with it obligations and implications of loyalties, which were not meant to be taken lightly. Extending his hand to Potter had held more meaning to Draco than the bespectacled wizard could have ever dreamt to understand and to see it thrown in his face like that, on behalf of a bloody Weasley no less, had hurt his pride more than Draco had cared to admit.

_Granger was always way too smart for those two airheads._

Indisputably nothing but the truth, seeing as Weasley had been a mediocre wizard at best and Potter, whilst unquestionably powerful, had never shown any ambition to develop his full potential. Nevertheless, naturally, making an ill-conceived remark to that effect in front of an already enraged Lucius the following summer had turned out to be a costly mistake. Earning Draco his very first taste of the Cruciatus curse, as well as a few 'cosy' nights spent, chained to a wall in the damp darkness of the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Punishment for his lack of academical superiority over, what Lucius had perceived to be, inferior 'mudblood filth'.

Naturally, every rational argument Severus and Narcissa had put forward had fallen on deaf ears. Not even the fact that Draco's grades had already been far above average, incidentally much better than Lucius' had ever been able to achieve -Easily placing him at the top of his peers in any other year, where his competition would not have included a veritable genius- had sufficed to sway the Malfoy patriarch from his firm conviction that Draco's inability to best a muggleborn witch had brought shame and dishonour to the family name.

_Perhaps that's why the fucking idiot had the 'grand' idea to hand a piece of the Dark Lord's soul to a bloody first year... Unleashing a century old basilisk in a school filled with children. Pure dumb luck that nobody got killed. Not to mention that the Dark Lord was anything but pleased upon discovering that Potter destroyed it._

Needless to say that Draco had not been privy to Lucius' exact plans for causing destruction at Hogwarts, in spite of thhe fact that the run-in with the Weasley family at Flourish and Blotts had definitely given him some cause for suspicion. Not that Lucius had needed more reason to harass a family of known blood traitors, but to surreptitiously slip a book in their cauldron could only serve some malicious intent. The only 'wisdom' the older wizard had imparted on his son had been express instructions to undermine the Golden Trio, while also stressing the utmost importance of putting the 'mudblood' in her righteous place.

Commands which had been accompanied by a less than subtle pointer, how close he had appeared to be with the two sons of Crabbe and Goyle Sr. Ugh. At the time it had served as quite the powerful reminder to Draco that even at Hogwarts, his yearly escape from Malfoy Manor, Lucius had the will as well as the power to exercise control over his life and that trust amongst Slytherins was a fickle thing not to be relied upon, when it came to dealings with his father.

Too weak or just not suicidal enough to openly defy Lucius and at the same time irrationally blaming parts of his uh... less than stellar summer on the obnoxious threesome, Draco had lashed out, doubling down on his efforts to make their lives as miserable as possible. The shameless favouritism on Dumbledore's part, which had earned Gryffindor the House Cup the year before had only served to further escalate the brewing conflict between lions and snakes. A heated atmosphere filled with tensions which had come to an ugly head at what had been supposed to be his first Quidditch practise as the newly appointed Slytherin seeker.

_Another one of Lucius' oh so 'brilliant' ideas..._

Which was not to say that Draco had never fancied the idea of being on the house team and testing his flying abilities against Potter on the Quidditch pitch. Navigating the winds on a broomstick had been one of the few untainted joys of his life and Potter had been his self-proclaimed arch nemesis, i _nsert highly sarcastic eye roll_ , so of course the idea of taking him down a peg had been rather appealing. Besides, the position of team seeker of Slytherin house had already been a highly coveted one, holding a lot of prestige, insofar functioning as the perfect stepping stone on Draco's ascension towards the throne of his house.

Hours upon hours of his summer had been spent high in the air, relentlessly pushing his training along in order to be well prepared for the tryouts, however Lucius had settled on another strategy. Revealing with a sneer of contempt that he had had so little confidence in Draco's ability to secure the spot on his own merit that he had seen himself 'forced' to intervene and make a rather sizeable donation on his son's behalf. Buying a spot had been by no means unusual as uncomfortable as Draco had been with the concept, therefore at least the impairment to his reputation amongst his fellow housemates had been minimal. Nothing but a scratch compared to the considerable beating his pride had taken.

_'At least no one in Gryffindor had to buy his way onto the team.'_

Merlin, Granger had definitely known how to set him off. Having his shame pointed out in public by the little Gryffindor princess and in order to defend Potter of all people, had been more than enough to cause his temper to spike. He had meant all the derisive words in the heat of the moment, had spat them with the intention to hurt, to let the precious Golden Girl feel a tiny part of the pain that summer had brought him. However, unfortunately the spiteful vitriol had done nothing, except, perhaps, leaving a foul taste in his mouth as soon as Draco had seen her amber eyes well up with unshed tears. Lips trembling with righteous fury. Presumably having been the one to introduce Granger to the cruelties of prejudice was to this very day one of his biggest regrets.

_That's why I tried to help her later that year..._

The page about basilisks, which Draco had surreptitiously placed on her favourite desk in the Hogwarts library had been meant as an apology of sorts. Compensation for all the foul things he had spouted over the course of second year, because try as he might have, Draco simply had not been able to bring himself to wish any real harm upon her. Researching the monster that had been long rumoured to live in the Chamber of Secrets had been significantly easier as an esteemed and rising member of Slytherin house. A position which had come with certain privileges, for example access to the hidden alcove filled with Slytherin related books about halfway between the common room and the potions classroom.

Ancient tomes and personal journals. Knowledge accumulated by generations of students of Slytherin house, including a collection regarding Salazar's fabled beast. Narrowing it down to a snake, had been a mere formality, since Salazar's fascination with the reptiles had been rather well documented. The ability to use Parseltongue was even one of the inheritable traits of House Slytherin. And what snake would have been more fitting than a basilisk, the King of Serpents? Not to mention all those dead roosters...

_At least Potter and Weaselbee gave me a good laugh that year..._

Vince with red hair and Greg with glasses, Circe, he could still see their faces, all riled up but unable to contradict him, because they had to act the part of the two most dimwitted boys at school. Could they have made it any more glaringly obvious? Draco had been almost flattered by their assumption that he might know something about the chamber, maybe even believing him to be the heir of Slytherin and the quality of their disguise had admittedly almost impressed him. Quite remarkable for second year students, even if the execution of their 'plan' had been atrocious.

Besides, it wasn't as if Draco would have told those two buffoons he had to call friends anything of importance anyway. Still, inwardly he had applauded Granger for her brewing talents. Mastering polyjuice potion required an abundance of both patience and skill, a rather impressive feat for the average witch or wizard, much more an inquisitive twelve year old girl with no prior potions expertise. Pity that she hadn't joined the two dunderheads in their so-called interrogation. She would have made for a far better opponent in a battle of wits.

_Although ousting Lucius' dark arts cabinet to the son of Arthur Weasley was a very nice consolation prize... Such sweet revenge, to take some of father's beloved torture instruments away, before the bastard had the chance to use them on me again... Good thing too, because Lucius was in an exceptionally foul mood that summer. Loosing Dobby to the barely twelve year old Boy Who Lived, had definitely soured his already unpleasant disposition..._

Over the course of third and fourth year Draco's unwilling fascination with Granger had slowly deepened into a hopeless crush, a fact that he had irritatingly realised in one of the most inopportune moments. Namely, the very second the beck of her hand had collided with his nose towards the end of third year, almost breaking it in the process. She had been a vision then, fierce and powerful. An image of the warrior queens of old, Morrigan goddess of war reborn, the vibrant magic around her flaring up like a sting flame, a sudden eruption of vengeful energy, while the air was shaking with her smouldering fury. Her warm whiskey eyes turning into liquid gold, untamed locks flying wildly in the wind.

_Merlin, what I would've done to see her like that again..._

Torn between his obligations to his family and his inexplicable attraction to the girl that personified everything he had been raised to hate, Draco's first instinct had been to lock those feelings safely away. To do his very best to ignore the way his heart had skipped a beat, whenever Granger had been close to him. To forget about the plethora of amazing abilities that made her such an exceptional witch. To stop fantasising about a world where the Gryffindor Princess had been born with blood as ancient and pure as his or at least had been sorted into any other house, allowing Draco to be at least cordial in their interactions.

_What good could have ever come of it?_

Even if Granger had been willing to forgive the years of shared enmity between them, all the cruel taunts he had openly flung at her, which Draco had highly doubted at the time -still did actually- there had been no imaginable version of the future which would have granted the pair of them any semblance of happiness. Not with Lucius all-seeing shadow hovering over Draco's every step, war clouding the horizon and the rumours regarding a dark resurgence continuously intensifying around them.

_I thought it would be better for everyone involved if I forgot about her..._

In a rather bothersome twist of fate, Draco's grandiose plans of dismissing any feelings he might have harboured for the muggleborn witch as nothing but a silly schoolboy crush and thereby moving on with his life, had not even made it through the summer. Seeing her at the Quidditch World Cup right after Lucius had inadvertently delivered a death blow to Draco's notions of pureblood superiority, had thankfully been enough of a shock to spur him into action. A few cruel words had sufficed to send the Golden Trio running. Had Granger ever figured out that he had simply tried to warn her in the only way that would not have given anyone cause for suspicion? Probably not...

_Salazar, and then there was the Yule Ball..._

If Draco had thought her beautiful before that night, it had paled in comparison to the unforgettable entrance Granger had made at the traditional Yule Ball, which had been held in honour of the Triwizard Tournament. On the arm of Viktor Krum, the Triwizard Champion and world renowned Quidditch star no less. Goodness, when Draco had seen the gorgeous witch for the first time, her petite silhouette perfectly accentuated by the playful periwinkle dress, the unruly brunette hair tamed into supple voluminous locks and a shy smile adorning her lips, he had almost forgotten how to breath.

Seeing her with Krum had been quite the relief, although the guy had hardly been on par with Granger, the Bulgarian star seeker had definitely been a notable step up from Weaselbee whom Draco had assumed to be her date for the evening. At least Krum had looked fairly decent and not like a polyjuice experiment gone wrong and anyone had been preferable to seeing her pose as Weasel's arm-candy. Like literally anyone, even our oh so gracious Saviour for that matter...

_And no, I've 'never' been jealous of that Weasley peasant or anything of the sort. Why should I? It's not as if I had to watch him strolling around the castle with the girl of my dreams and not even acknowledge her for the remarkable witch she is!_

_No reason to be jealous, indeed. None at all..._

Of course, Draco had wanted nothing more than to be the one who swept her off her feet, to hold her in his arms and dance the night away. However, as his eyes had secretly followed her swirling steps, while she and Krum had been floating gracefully over the dance floor, a picture of radiance and joy, Draco hadn't felt the stinging jealousy he had been expecting. Instead his heart had been filled with bittersweet happiness. Seeing her smile like that had been worth ten times the pain that had pierced his heart at the realisation that it would never be directed at him.

_One tiny smile is all I ever got..._

After awkwardly kissing Pansy, they had parted ways and Draco had headed back to the Slytherin dormitories. The kiss nothing but a futile attempt on both their parts to upgrade their friendship to a proper relationship. Teeth and tongues clashing unceremoniously together until both of them had broken out in somewhat hysterical laughter at the sheer absurdity of their situation and had sheepishly admitted to each other that they preferred to remain good friends rather than lovers. Nevertheless, they had both agreed to uphold appearances in front of their parents, somewhat thankful for the rigidity of the pureblood courting customs which had been primarily designed to ensure the brides purity until the binding ceremony.

To his surprise, Draco had almost stumbled over none other than a crying Hermione Granger, when he had left the Great Hall, his heart constricting in his chest upon finding the Gryffindor Princess so devastated. Barely more than an hour ago she had been all smiles and pleasant laughter, so what could have happened to leave her crying on a staircase, without one of her annoying best friends in sight?

_'Sweet Salazar, Granger you look terrible... Where are your loyal sidekicks? Aren't you attached at the hip with Potter and Weaselbee, or something?_

Draco had already had half the mind to go off and hex Krum a new one, the outlines of a devious scheme effortlessly developing in his mind. But then Granger's telltale flinch at his reference to the red-haired menace, had given away that Viktor dearest had obviously precious little to do with her heartbroken appearance.

_'Go away, Malfoy. Believe it or not, tonight I'm really not interested in your silly little games.'_

Granger had looked at him with puffy red eyes, visibly bracing herself for his usual taunts and insults, but Draco, in a move that bordered on sheer madness had not even found it in himself to sneer at her properly. Not on a night where she had enchanted him so thoroughly with her unaffected grace and effortless elegance.

_'Some people, especially those of the insufferable ginger variety, are hardly worth your tears, Granger. You are so much better than that!'_

Then Draco had leaned forward, procuring a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it over to her, patiently waiting until Granger had hesitantly accepted it. Her features betraying the confusion and underlying suspicion his uncharacteristic act of kindness had provoked. Before she had recovered from the shock and used the opportunity to thank him or something equally ridiculous, Draco had waved her off dismissively, before stalking off in the direction of the dungeons.

_'You can keep it. Just don't mention anything... I've got a reputation to uphold.'_

Perhaps, the only remotely cordial interaction the two of them had ever had, and the tentative, teary smile Draco had received in return had caused his heart to soar in his chest for weeks after the incident, because as small and hesitant as it might have been it had been his and his alone. He, Draco Malfoy, had made Hermione Jean Granger smile. A memory to be treasured even more so after the events that had followed. Before the school year had come to a close, Potter had survived yet another confrontation with the Dark Lord, Diggory had been killed and Malfoy Manor had suddenly been chosen to host a new set of unsavoury guests, diverting any attention Draco might have granted the subject of his nonexistent love life with Granger on more uh... life threatening issues.

_Thankfully, my Occlumency shields were already developed enough to safeguard any forbidden feelings I had for the 'Mudblood' Princess of Gryffindor. If I had merely desired her, it would have been written off as youthful indiscretions, but to want to make her smile? A 'mudblood'? The Chosen One's best friend?_

Yeah, not really something one could lightheartedly reminisce about with the Dark Lord over tea and biscuits...

Fifth year had been relatively bearable, in spite of the wretched wench the Ministry of Magic had imposed upon the student body. On Lucius recommendation, of course... Merlin, Draco had certainly admired Granger even more for the mean Slytherin streak she had displayed by orchestrating the toads comeuppance. Keeping himself from strangling the ugly bint had taken an enormous amount of self-restraint on his part.

Especially after Draco had found one of the first year Slytherin girls, who had 'incidentally' lacked any notable family connections within the Ministry, leaving one of Umbridge's detentions with bloody scars carved into the back of her hand. No one messed with the students of Slytherin house on his watch. Not when their wellbeing had become one of his responsibilities as the reigning Prince of Slytherin.

_Good for her that she backed off after our 'nice' little chat in the pink atrocity she insisted on calling an office._

Then Lucius had failed in his task to retrieve the blasted prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, leaving his wife and son to bear the brunt of the Dark Lord's ire. As soon as Draco had returned to the Manor, he had gotten informed that he was to receive the Dark Mark, accompanied by a lecture from Bellatrix about the high honour the Dark Lord had shown the family by allowing Draco, by far the youngest amongst their ranks. At the time Draco had believed his aunts' enthusiasm to be mere mockery, since the connection between Lucius' incompetence and his own initiation had been plain as day, however, later on he had often wondered if Bella had not been genuine in her elation. In her warped mind, martyrdom for the cause or eternal glory in the Dark Lord's service had probably he had an enticing ring to it...

Draco had borne the initiation with the unshakeable stoicism that came attached to the Malfoy name, acting completely oblivious to the Dark Lord's true intentions of setting him up for failure and overly confident in his own abilities. Showing your vulnerability in a room filled with people who would not hesitate to tear you apart if their master had decreed your death was not exactly commendable and if Draco had learned anything useful as the son of Lucius Malfoy, then it was how to manipulate and unfavourable situation to his advantage. Even the Dark Lord had looked slightly impressed at Draco's icy composure, when the dark magic had charred his pale flesh, burning the Dark Lord's presence right into his soul.

In the privacy of his own quarters, though, Draco had allowed the feelings of helplessness and despair to consume him, the salty taste of tears lingering on his tongue as he had stared lifelessly at the dark magic that infested his arm like a writhing and squirming parasite. By this point in time Draco had already come to accept the futility of denying his feelings in regards to the muggleborn witch.

Knowing full well that a significant part of that attraction must have stemmed from the fact that being infatuated with Hermione Granger, had symbolised the ultimate rebellion against Lucius. That Draco had created an image of her in his head, detrimental to anything he had ever despised about his own life and upbringing, which did not necessarily have to align with reality.

_We always desire the things we can not have..._

But curse it all to Styx and back, being able to explain his emotions on a strictly rational level had done nothing to diminish Draco's attraction, had not dampened his feelings or soothed the yearning in his heart. Feelings did not defer to rationality, they did not falter in the face of brutal logic or the cold analytics of psychology. Emotions needed neither rhyme nor reason for existing and questioning their legitimacy had been a fool's errand to begin with.

_Not that I could've ever hoped to have a chance with her..._

Seeing the darkness crawling beneath his flesh had just served as yet another stark reminder for Draco that he would never be deserving of Granger's untainted kindness and innate goodness. Not after the pain he had brought her over the years. Not when the only thing he had to offer her had been his devotion. The devotion of a boy she most likely despised and with more than ample reason. Whose family was deeply entrenched in the Dark Arts and the blood purity movement. Who had ridiculed and belittled her for things which had been entirely out of her control.

_Salazar knows, Granger's already too good for anyone, never mind a prodigal Death Eater..._

Of course Draco had contemplated to desert from the ranks then and there, had spent sleepless nights mulling through his options and more than once considering to simply throw himself at Saint Potter's feet and beg for the Chosen One's mercy and asylum. His wounded pride had mattered little in the grand scheme of things, however, pledging his loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix would have meant entrusting them with his mother's safekeeping and, Merlin knows, their track record in that regard had been anything but spotless. The Potters and Longbottoms of this world had learned that lesson the hard way, and Draco would have been damned if he had allowed his mother to suffer their fate.

_Without Dumbledore to guide them, they were as helpless as an asp trying to fight off a basilisk..._

Therefore Draco had come to the conclusion that the only way to grant the people he cared about as much protection as possible, had been to remain amongst the Death Eater ranks and try to fulfil the task the Dark Lord had placed upon his shoulders. In the rather unlikely case that he somehow survived his sixth year, he would make a much more valuable asset in the upcoming war against the Dark Lord if he kept up the pretence of utmost loyalty and aided the war-effort by providing firsthand insight regarding the strategies of the Death Eaters. He might have joined the ranks in penance for Lucius' incompetence, but Draco had been fairly confident that given the chance he would be capable of finding ways to regain the Dark Lord's favour.

_All things considered that part might have worked out a little too well..._

Unsure whom to trust to act as his connection with the Order, distributing the information amongst them without risking to give away his identity, ergo endangering his mother's security, Draco had turned to Luna, his cousin from his father's side. Luna was a natural Occlumens and more importantly family, even if Lucius had never acknowledged her as such. Her late mother Pandora Lovegood nee Malfoy had been Lucius' older sister and therefore Draco's aunt. A fact that had been eradicated from the family history after Pandora had been disowned for her continued refusal to agree to an arranged marriage with Theodore Nott Sr.

Draco had only discovered their familial connection after he had noticed the many empty branches of the enormous tree that represented the Malfoy family on the traditional tapestry, somewhen during the winter holidays in fourth year. It had taken Draco weeks of research on concealment charms and their properties to discover how to revert them only temporarily lest Lucius might detect his tampering. Although the reward of discovering that he had a cousin who attended Hogwarts with him had certainly turned out to be worth the effort. Almost an entire year Draco had observed his cousin from afar, before eventually approaching her during the calamity that had been Umbridge's short tenure as Inquisitor of Hogwarts.

_'I had begun to wonder when you would come to me cousin...'_

Dreamy and mysterious as ever, but it had not taken Draco all too long to see how unwise it would have been to dismiss her wisdom just because of the rather unconventional way Luna usually chose to deliver it. Over the course of the remaining fifth year they had met up a few times, communicating through a set of stones Draco had enchanted with a Protean charm, slowly building up their shared trust and beginning to confide in each other. Knowing that his cousin had joined Potter on his ill-advised quest to the Department of Mysteries, where she had a high chance to face Lucius in battle, had driven him almost mad with worry.

When Draco had returned for his sixth year, Luna had been the first person he had intentionally sought out, planning on telling her the necessary details, whilst omitting the quite crucial detail as to why he had planned on systematically undermining the Dark Lord. As it had turned out, telling her had not been necessary, anyway. Somehow, his cousin had already known. Had taken one long searching look at him at the end of their first meeting in a hidden alcove on the third floor, before her eyes had glazed over and her lips had quirked up into a small smile, the hint of Malfoy mercury flashing like falling stars in her otherwise midnight blue orbs.

_'You are very brave Dragon. One day she'll see it too.'_

Not yet fully accustomed to Luna's more uh... eccentric personality traits, Draco had stared at her, entirely helpless in the face of such a peculiar outburst. His mind racing at record speed, frantically trying to evaluate if there had been any possible way that this dreamy wisp of girl could have guessed his secret... A secret that Draco had somehow managed to keep from Lucius as well as the Dark Lord himself. Naturally, he had acted unaffected at first _, no need to give the game away without a very good reason_ , narrowing his eyes dangerously at her.

_'I don't think that I know what you are talking about.'_

In retrospect Draco could see, that he should not even have bothered to deny her deductions. For all her odd mannerisms, Luna had the uncanny ability to see right through the most flawless of masks, to know the people around her sometimes better than they knew themselves. Unsurprisingly his insufficient coverup had only served to elicit a tinkling laugh from her, the melodious sound reverberating in the ghostly silence that had surrounded them.

_"Of course you do, silly. All the Grimplegrumps sitting on your shoulders would never dream of lying to me."_

And then she had quoted, intoning the short lines with flawless clarity and thusly rendering any of Draco's further attempts at denial completely pointless. The simple words leaving him frozen on the spot, too stunned to react with anything but wide-eyed speechlessness.

_'But thus: If powers divine | Behold our human actions as they do | I doubt not then but innocence shall make | false accusation blush and tyranny | tremble at patience.'_

As more time had passed, without any further comment from either of them, Draco had felt a deep blush creeping on his cheeks, spreading further until it even reached the tips of his ears, heated proof of his rising embarrassment. Salazar knows how Luna had discovered his secret or what exactly those Grimple thingies were, but there had been no dispute who his cousin had successfully tried to reference.

_Malfoy women and their famed tinge of seer blood, no point in keeping secrets from them..._

Then it had slowly sunken in that Luna had quoted a squib writer in order to convince Draco of her insight, strictly forbidden literature in the circles Lucius had frequented and his reaction had pretty much confirmed his familiarity with Shakespeare's work. More specifically 'The Winter's Tale' the play that featured the virtuous Queen Hermione as its main protagonist. Did his cousin know about the worn and tired black book Draco had kept hidden on the bottom of his school trunk? About the countless times he had let his fingers trail over the pages, memorising every line by heart, whenever the hopelessness had threatened to overwhelm him.

The thought alone had been cringeworthy enough to make Draco wish for the earth to open and swallow him whole, to allow him to disappear and wallow in his embarrassment. He had already felt pathetic enough for his hopeless infatuation, but the prospect that someone else might have actually picked up on the whole extent of his pining, had been downright mortifying. Not to mention dangerous for both of them. Without thinking, Draco had mumbled, the words mainly directed at himself and not at his cousin.

_'Ever considered that I wouldn't want her to see my so called bravery? She deserves someone who can offer her the world. Not the branded slave of a madman, who will be trenched in blood before this whole thing is going to be over. For better or worse... I just haven't decided yet, if it's going to be my own.'_

To emphasise his point he had carefully rolled up the cuff of his long-sleeved white shirt in order to expose the pale expanse of his forearm, where a black snake slithered across the fair skin, almost animatedly as if to mock Draco's morose mood, its tail snuggly wrapped around the ugly skull that served as a centrepiece to the tattoo. Looking startlingly unfazed by the distasteful display Luna had simply stood up and carefully straightened the wrinkles of her dress, before merrily skipping away in the direction of the Ravenclaw common room. Her parting words to him, seemingly bouncing from the walls of the hidden alcove, their echo resounding in his head over and over again.

' _Never forget that time is a curious thing cousin.'_

Long after Luna had left, Draco had still been staring in the direction where she had disappeared. Slumped against the wall, shoulders hunched, his knees buckling under the sheer weight of all the tumultuous emotions Luna's words had sparked within him. Then his look had shifted down to his forearm, absentmindedly tracing the outlines of the black snake coiling around it, feeling the venomous presence of the Dark Lords magic pulsing through his flesh as if it were a living, breathing thing, splotches of angry red skin indicating the onset of festering necrosis.

_Another one of those debts to Severus that I've never had the chance to settle... And I wasn't very welcoming of his help either..._

Neither Draco nor Luna had revisited the topic again that year. Both of them not yet entirely comfortable with putting their emotions into words, much less being each other's confidante in such matters. Malfoy's were not supposed to waste time on such frivolous emotional humbug like love. In any form whatsoever. At least according to the many lectures Lucius had wasted on the subject: Emotions were nothing but weaknesses waiting to be exploited. Romance merely a fairy tale for the masses. Loyalty and friendship just hindrances when it came down to making the hard decisions.

Questioning those 'universal truths' had inevitably led to painful punishments throughout Draco's youth, making it quite difficult to entrust anyone with such sensitive information and old habits died notoriously hard. Nevertheless, more than a year later, when Luna had been imprisoned in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor to keep her father Xhenophilius in line, Draco had been quite astounded by the intensity of his protectiveness towards the quirky witch. Much like he had always imagined he would have felt for the little sister his mother had miscarried not two years after his birth. Desperately trying to convince her to accept his help in order to escape her prison, while she refused him time and time again.

_'It's not the right time dragon... You can't risk your position, at least not yet... Just wait a little longer, then you'll understand...'_

Merlin, Draco had been so terribly mad at Luna right until the Golden Trio had suddenly appeared in his parlour and he had called Dobby to their rescue. Just another reminder not to question his cousins counsel in such matters. After the disastrous fallout of the Battle of Hogwarts, they had met up quite regularly, once every handful of weeks, their conversations always ending with a few whispered sentences of reassurance that Granger was indeed still alive and relentlessly fighting to keep up the morale amongst her fellow Order members. Precious tidbits of information which had kept Draco halfway sane throughout the years.

_Only Salazar knows what I would've done without her... And right now she needs me to be strong for her!_


	5. The End Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco comforts his cousin, who has devastating news. Blaise, Luna and Draco join Hermione in the last Order hideout, even though there are some initial tensions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day later than I had initially planned but here it is!
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely reviews and the many kudos I’ve received so far. They are very encouraging!
> 
> I don't own any rights to the Harry Potter series.

Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, Draco tightened his hold on the blonde witch, before he declared with considerably more conviction than he felt at the moment. "We'll be alright, petite étoile... You'll see someday... someday far away, but someday the horrors of the present will be nothing but a distant memory. An almost forgotten nightmare, unable to hurt us anymore. And tomorrow will hopefully show us a far kinder world than yesterday ever was."

Luna countered sadly, wistfulness reflected by her slightly tremulous voice, before she carefully moved out of his grasp. "Someday you'll realise that even you can't fix everything for me, Draco... Even a dragon can't stop the earth from shaking or convince lightning to leave its chosen path. The raw powers of nature and the shadowy turns of fate are not meant to be conquered by brute force or devious acts of cunning. Us mere mortals can only hope to see as clearly as magic allows us and stand strong in unity despite the storms raging around us."

_What a weird explanation, but then it is Luna, so I probably should not be surprised..._

Despite her reprimand Draco did not fail to notice the heartfelt fondness that flashed over her grief-stricken features: Temporarily chasing away some of the dark shadows that lurked in the depths of her irises, while she linked her long, delicate fingers with his, which Draco knew to be rough and calloused. Testament to the constant handling of potion ingredients and innumerable hours of duelling training.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with trying, is there? We two are family, you and I. And Salazar help me, because I know all too well that I've never had much of an opportunity to be there for you. To offer you my unconditional protection like you would've deserved from the very beginning." Swallowing the heavy lump that had formed in the back of his throat, Draco added firmly. "You are right, Luna, I can't defy the forces of nature nor can I claim to know the future. For Merlin's sake, I can't even promise you that either of us will survive the week. But for what it's worth I'll stand right by your side and fight until the bitter end, whatever that might be."

Shaking her head, the former Ravenclaw supplied. "One man's end is another man's beginning. The clock's already struck midnight, Dragon."

_A cryptic message hidden behind a muggle analogy? Wonderful! Nothing easier to interpret for the average pureblooded wizard, who has only ever interacted with muggles when he was doing the bidding of the people that promoted their complete and swift annihilation._

"Why is it that you always best me in our verbal sparring? I'm trying to be reassuring here, you know?" Draco deadpanned, noting how Luna rolled her eyes in exasperation at his evident cluelessness. However he could make out the slight upturn of her lips, before her eyes grew sombre once again and she lowered her head, effectively concealing her expression. While tugging his arm in the direction of Blaise, who had apparently used their conversation to get up on his feet and and regarded their interaction in silent astonishment, Luna stated her voice wavering towards the end. "Come on, cousin! Blaise needs to hear this too and I really don't care to tell the story more than once. It's by no means a pleasant tale."

_Circe, that sounds rather apocalyptic..._

It did not take Draco more than a few steps to move in front of his cousin, leading Luna towards his best friend, a thrill of excitement mingling with the gripping sense of dread his cousin's earlier statements had induced. No matter how dire their current circumstances had become, introducing his best friend to the only remaining member of his family was one of the things Draco would have dismissed as a foolish, if not to say delusional, dream not more than a few short hours ago. Finally being able to acknowledge Luna as his cousin, an important part of his family, as it should have been all along, sent a rather pleasant shiver down his spine.

"Merlin's beard, Draco I realise that intermarrying within the family tree is pretty much expectation rather than exception in our parts of society, but don't you think marrying your literal female mirror image might just be taking things a tiny bit too far? I mean not that you two aren't adorable or anything, mate, but you could quite easily give the Weasley twins a run for their money with that ghastly platinum blonde monstrosity you call a hair colour."

_So much for following the traditional introductions..._

Stifling a small smirk at Blaise's rather undignified jab, Draco drawled with the faintest hint of bite. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Where have you left your manners, Blaise? Better let me introduce you, my friend, before you can spout anymore unjustified assumptions and spin another sordid love affair out of nothing but thin air..."

With a gesture towards Luna who had her head raised high, holding herself as poised and regal as would have been expected from any descendant of a noble house as highly regarded as the Malfoy's, Draco suppressed the urge to grin mischievously. Somehow he doubted that his friend would be able to recognise Luna as the whimsical, lanky Ravenclaw witch of their Hogwarts days. From time to time her calm maturity and the lack of the more overt oddities that had characterised her personality at school, like for example wearing earrings made of raddishes and glasses with a special cut to search for Nargles, still astounded even Draco himself and he had witnessed her transformation with his own eyes..

_She'd have done our family far more proud than Lucius ever did... Or than I've ever done for that matter..._

Following the spur of the moment, Draco gripped Luna's hand tighter, his fingers easily closing around her wrist until she reciprocated in kind. Then he drew on some of the remaining power in his Malfoy signet ring. Even if their shared familial magic would all too soon expire, there was still more than enough time left, to finally seal the pact he and Luna had only halfway completed at the beginning of his sixth year. Authority radiated from his voice, a necessity for the ritualistic kind of magic Draco intended to cast, as he intoned solemnly.

"Blaise Edoardo Zabini, son of Vivian Alcina Zabini please allow me to introduce you to Luna Lauryn Lovegood daughter of Pandora Alethea Lovegood nee Malfoy, by rights of blood and magic my cousin and hereby publicly claimed as a rightful daughter to the most ancient and noble House of Malfoy."

A twisted infinity band, its outlines strongly reminiscent of the three golden bonds of matrimony if it were not for the silvery almost translucent colour, curled around their connected forearms. The residual energy swirling in anticipation of the words, which would reinstate Luna as an official member of the Malfoy family.

"In the name of the Old Gods and the New, fulfilling the duty to our shared blood and with the blessing of our ancestors, I, Draco Alexander Malfoy, Head of my House, entwine our paths of fate in open kinship, Luna Lauryn Lovegood. Woe be our enemies for they shall fall to our righteous wrath and hope to our friends for they shall be protected by the House of Dragons. Sanctimonia vincet semper! Let our bonds of blood finally be sealed in magic, a promise of eternal loyalty, to shield and protect, nourish and heal, in this lifetime and the next. On my magic and my honour."

"On my magic and my life."

Bright hues of blue glinted in the bond, as Luna's answer completed the ceremony, before the thin threads of energy began to vanish, quickly dissolving into luminescent smoke and melting into the shadows. Nevertheless, there was no doubt that the ritual had done its work, despite the rather sudden ending. As soon Draco concentrated inwardly, stretching his senses in anticipation of the changed magic, he could feel it. The grounding hum of familial energy already coursing through the newly formed bond, leaving him kind of awestruck, until Blaise regained some of his senses and bowed slightly in front of Luna, taking her hand out of Draco's and pressing a reverent kiss to her knuckles.

_Always the charmer!_

"Merry meet, Luna Lovegood. Goodness, all those names are certainly a whole mouthful... Draco's always known how to add the dramatic uh... je ne sais quoi to something as trivial as an introduction amongst friends." Turning towards Draco, Blaise added in mock seriousness, all the while waggling his eyebrows rather suggestively: An expression so achingly familiar and yet so terribly out of place on his hardened features that it made Draco's head spin. "Not to mention that you kept such a lovely witch all to yourself, mate. The Order stuff I can easily forgive and forget, but to hide a perfectly good cousin from the rest of the world is an almost criminal offence."

Regardless of the carefree tone Blaise employed, Draco knew his friend well enough to detect the grain of truth buried beneath the playful facade and he exhaled a pained sigh. It was not as if he had had much of a choice in the matter. "Technically cousin _and_ my only Order contact..." He stressed tiredly. "Or what's left of them in Britain, anyway. So yes I'd say I had ample reason to keep her existence to myself... Luna and I are both naturals at Occlumency and until today I couldn't risk her safety by exposing our connection to anyone and I mean literally anyone who wouldn't have been able to preserve our secret. Even face to face with a talented Legilimens. Nothing's that simple anymore... The stakes of the game we are playing are simply too high, have been that way for quite some time."

"As for the added theatrics..." Luna interjected with an airy smile, a faraway look passing over her face, before she sought out Blaise's intense gaze. "It's my understanding that the source of our ancestral magic will be destroyed before the new morrow, so this was quite literally one of the last possible moments to officially declare me to be a part of the Malfoy family and there's still so much work to be done before the day rises."

_Of course she'd know that without needing to be told..._

"Why am I even still surprised? I swear there's nothing..."

There was more that Draco wanted to say, but Blaise's choked questions cut him off. "Your... what? Why would..." After a tense pause, his friend continued, his voice unnaturally high with shock and disbelief, hands shaking slightly at his side. "Bloody hell, mate, you used your ancestral magic to buy us our escape? That's... Merlin... I really don't know what to say to that..."

"You didn't tell him."

_Way to state the obvious, Luna..._

"I didn't exactly spell it out, no..."

_And with good reason, too!_

Blaise was already shouldering way too much self blame, as irrational as that line of thinking was. For Charlie's death. Theo's treason. Draco's desertion. Adding to that the unprecedented sacrifice of the remnant of Malfoy magic, magic that had surpassed centuries, wars and generations of his family, was not an appealing idea. His friend had been raised in the same circles as Draco had, where giving up your family magic was regarded as far more significant than the loss of your wand arm or something of equally high value.

Witches and wizards had died to uphold that kind of family legacy... To give it up, even for a cause as noble as saving your friends life was basically unheard of. _Even if that might be more of a testament to the skewed priorities of our culture, than anything else..._ Draco had definitely not wanted Blaise to live with that kind of burden, not when it had ultimately been his choice to utilise the ancestral magic in order to aid in their escape.

Shooting a visibly apologetic Luna an annoyed glare, Draco settled on damage control and spoke with as much nonchalance as he could muster, telling his best friend, who was obviously still struggling with this latest revelation. "Look, Blaise. Remember what we talked about earlier? That I couldn't take you away sooner because Bella and the Dark Lord would've caught us by now?" If possible Blaise paled even further, as he nodded mechanically and gestured for Draco to continue. "They couldn't follow us because I adjusted the wards to allow no one across the borders of the estate. Magic of that kind takes an incredible amount of energy and there were no viable alternatives..."

"Harry is dead."

Within an instant the heads of the two wizards snapped back to Luna, all thoughts about the subject of ancestral magic erased from their minds. Somehow the problem seemed much less pressing when viewed in comparison to this unexpected bombshell, Draco's cousin had delivered with a voice devoid of any emotion. Although her eyes told an entirely different story, once again glistening with tears. For a moment Draco simply stared dumbly at her, mouth agape, his mind refusing to process the information. To accept the painful truth beneath those words. Their succinct simplicity seeming woefully inadequate to describe the heavy gravity of the situation.

_Harry. Is. Dead._

Suddenly Draco felt the cold seep into his bones, the warm blood running in his veins freezing to ice, while the world was beginning to spin around him, head throbbing from the terrifying implications. Numbness spread through his body. Rather distantly he noted that Luna was still talking to him. He could see her lips moving, Blaise joining in, but found himself unable to follow their conversation. Shock and fear mingling with disbelief and horror. Somehow it felt like falling. As if their green-blue sphere had suddenly decided to tilt on its axis, leave its course around the sun and now, plummeted unrestrained into the infinite depths of space, picking up speed with each passing second. Plunging into an abyss of black nothingness without any chances of escape.

_No wonder Luna is so distraught!_

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived was no more. Passed away a good month short of his twenty-first birthday. For sure not the youngest victim of this war, but still it was Harry Potter. Gryffindor's golden boy and Dumbledore's beloved pet project. Salazar knows, Draco had never been the biggest fan of 'the hailed Saviour of the Wizarding World', _as those pricks on Potterwatch had never failed to remind anyone who'd cared to listen._ Quite the opposite in fact! In his eyes the bloke had always been terribly overrated and that opinion was only partially due to the humiliating incident on the Hogwarts express and the way everyone had tripped over their feet in their various attempts to accommodate the Chosen Prat.

_Quidditch as a first year... House points for some unspecified heroic deeds at the end of the school year... Salazar, he got nothing more than a slap on the wrist for driving a flying car across Muggle London!_

No, the boy who vanquished the Dark Lord was at the best of times a rather mediocre wizard all things considered, because honestly a few strong outbursts of magic while being in mortal peril really did not compensate for a general lack of effort and commitment. Using Granger's good heart to get through your homework assignments could only go on for so long until people picked up on it and _only Merlin knows why she put up with those two idiots_. It's not as if either of them could have posed an intellectual challenge or something. Quite frankly speaking, Draco had always attributed Potter's continued survival on the Golden Boy's reliance on a mix of sheer dump luck and the support of people who were by far more accomplished and powerful than Potter himself could ever dream of being. A fact that made the world's preoccupation with the boy all the more annoying.

Nonetheless, over the last five years, Draco's harsh stance on the Boy Who Lived To Annoy Him had softened somewhat: Firstly because Granger as well as Luna seemed to have a peculiar weak spot for the green-eyed Wonder Boy and Draco had been strangely inclined to trust their judgement in the matter, _though the same might have applied to the Weasel once and we all know how that turned out for her..._ And secondly because Draco had not been too blinded by his personal prejudices to notice the uncanny parallels that could be drawn between him and Chosen Prat. Although, it would probably need some serious threats or copious amounts of alcohol, until Draco would ever acknowledge that train of thought.

Funnily enough, it had not been until Potter had cursed him during sixth year that it had occurred to Draco that there might have been more similarities between the raven haired wizard and himself than had been apparent on the surface. There had been something irksome about the all-consuming rage that had simmered in Potter's eyes as he had hurled the Sectumsempra at Draco, a depth that by far exceeded even their long history of general disdain and mutual antagonism. An untold a story of bent-up frustrations and suppressed aggressions, accumulated over years of helplessness in the face of an inescapable destiny.

Suppressed trauma tended to manifest in many different disguises, so violent outbursts should not have been surprising to anyone in the context of Potter's increasingly escalating confrontations with the Dark Lord. The Chosen One's temper had certainly taken a turn for the worse, since he had dragged Diggory away from that Salazar forsaken graveyard and weathered the fatal outcome of the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. Fifteen years of age and already a galleons-figure for all that was good and righteous, groomed to fulfil his role as the Order's precious Saviour. Just another soldier in a power struggle that had begun long before either of them had even taken his first breath.

_Potter probably never had much of a choice in the matter... Better wizards than him have gotten roped into good 'ole Dumbledore's machiavellian machinations for the 'Greater good' or some other nonsense like that... The leader of the 'Light Side' was nothing if not persuasive when he just puts his mind to something._

To feel powerless to determine your own future? Well, Draco had certainly been able to relate to that... After all the same mixture of angry resentment, uneasy acquiescence and helpless resignation had greeted him whenever he gazed into the mirror every morning. Granted, it might have been a decidedly more contained version, because no matter how hopeless his situation had seemed at the time, Draco certainly refused to act like a bleeding heart Gryffindor fool, who wore his fucking heart on his sleeve for all the world to see.

Nevertheless it had struck the Slytherin then and there, blood seeping out of deep gashes in that ugly bathroom on the second floor, how fucking ironic it was that Potter would be the one to kill him, since the Chosen One and Draco himself were the proverbial two sides of the same galleon. Their circumstances way more similar than others would assume on a first glance. Both pushed in the direction of a destiny, neither of them had ever asked for. Puppets on a string, dancing to the whims of their masters, who preferred to stay hidden in the shadows, while the two of them had dutifully performed the parts that had been mapped out for them.

_Or not so dutifully in my case..._

Contemplating any form of kinship towards Potter had certainly been a unsettling thought, especially after spending the better part of his school-life, being convinced that they had absolutely nothing in common, except, maybe, our well-known and mutually passionate animosity towards each other. Circe, even after his epiphany Draco had held no particular liking for the bloke. The last time he had taken the time to assess Potter, trying to gauge the probability that the blasted prophecy might actually turn out to be true, what Draco had seen was a rash dunderhead, prone to increasingly violent mood swings and with the kind of egotistical hero complex that should have gotten him killed ages ago. Not exactly reassuring, but at least his change in perspective had allowed him to be a little more sympathetic towards the boy's plight.

Both, the Dark Lord and their former headmaster had formed Potter's life by putting too much stock into a prophecy, delivered by a seer of rather questionable repute. _Trelawney, like seriously? What was wrong with those people?_ True seers existed, Draco had seen enough of Luna's abilities not to doubt it, but their quality could vary widely from very reliable to completely untrustworthy. And Trelawney had certainly never not belonged into the latter category.

Creating a self-fulfilling conundrum based on one of her predictions as the Dark Lord had done, was almost as idiotic as solely relying on Saint Potter's abilities to end the war singlehandedly like Dumbledore and the Order of Phoenix had seemed to believe. The Death Eater legions would not have disappeared into nothingness, even if Potter had miraculously managed to defeat the snake faced madman during the Battle of Hogwarts. Not when the numbers had been so decidedly in their favour.

Nevertheless Potter's death would undoubtedly turn out to be a harsh blow to the already flimsy resistance against the Dark Lord's ever-expanding sphere of influence, at the very least morale wise, and due to Draco's desertion they had also lost their most reliable source of inside information, which would have much more direct consequences.

"Merlin, we are fucked."

_Well, not one of my most eloquent moments but it sums things up rather nicely!_

After a seconds hesitation he asked defeatedly "How...?"

Dark shadows crossed over Luna's face as she turned towards him, almost causing him to regret ever asking the question. "An overdose of Sleeping Draught... He..." For a short moment she visibly had to fight for her countenance before she continued, meeting both, Blaise's and his, incredulous faces with a sad shake of her head. To think that the Boy Who Lived had not only died, but had chosen his death voluntarily, required a significant stretch of imagination. "I found him this morning... And Merlin help me, but he looked so peaceful. You two haven't seen him since Hogwarts, so you can't know how much this war has... had worn on him. Harry never truly recovered after Ron... not really. And then last month we lost Ginny and the baby. "

Stumbling over the last few words as another stream of tears rolled down her cheeks, Luna continued softly. "He... He left us a note: To explain things and to, how did he put it again? To apologise to us for not being strong enough to fight against the inevitable any longer. And now he is gone and I... I feel like I should be relieved that he found some peace in being reunited with his family again. Rowena knows, Harry deserved some piece of happiness just for once in his life. But I am just so angry with him... so indescribably angry, you know? That he would leave Hermione, that he would leave me just like that, knowing full well how much he means to us... Not to the stupid war effort, but to us... To me. How can I be that selfish Dragon? That I can't see beyond my own pain, can't feel anything except grief and anger."

Feeling her increasing agitation Draco wrapped his arm around her shaking shoulders, pulling the Ravenclaw witch tightly against him, while heavy sobs were wracking her body. Absentmindedly he wondered, his attention mostly focused on Luna's quivering form, what exactly Potter had meant to his cousin. Draco would be lying had he claimed ignorance of the fact that Luna's feelings towards the Chosen One exceeded the realms of platonic friendship, an unspoken truth conveyed in the soft tenderness that had overtaken her features whenever their conversations had turned to Potter and the resigned pain she had so desperately tried to conceal at any mention of Ginny Weasley.

The girl, now presumably turned to a woman, who had eventually won the Golden Boy's heart and later on even carried his child, although if Draco had not totally misunderstood Luna's earlier statement death had already claimed the youngest Weasley daughter, her and their shared child's passing being the major catalyst for Potter's own suicide. He felt a pang of pity for Potter at the realisation that the Weasley girl had presumably died during or shortly after giving birth to the wizard's child and neither mother nor the baby had survived the ordeal. Wizarding pregnancies, especially amongst purebloods, were notoriously risky, marked by a high percentage of miscarriages and stillbirths, but to loose both so far into the third trimester must have been devastating.

_No one should have to live through something like that!_

To loose your newly built family in a single swoop, paired with the guilt at being partially responsible for the pregnancy, well, Draco could somehow understand, why Potter had sought solace in the arms of death himself. Why he had rather wished to join his family in the afterlife, rather than continue the fight in a world riddled with guilt and self-hatred. Nonetheless, Draco could empathise with Luna's anger, with her helplessness and resentment that Potter had made his choice without consideration for her's or Hermione's emotional wellbeing. All the while feeling terrible because she still loved Potter and did not want to begrudge him the peace and quiet he had so obviously craved.

_Which doesn't change the fact that I think her guilt is entirely misplaced..._

Exchanging a few helpless glances with Blaise over Luna's head, whose overwhelmed speechlessness reflected Draco's sentiments about the witch's breakdown just fine since comforting other people was not something that came naturally to him, he murmured soothingly. His fingers ghosting gently over the cascade of white-blond hair.

"Shh, shh... Luna... There's nothing and I mean nothing you have to feel bad about! You had to find your uh... One of your best friends killed himself last night and he left you nothing but a few words scribbled on parchment. Salazar, in my opinion you've every damn right in this world to be as mad and angry and devastated as you want to be. Certainly doesn't make things any easier for the rest of us, even if I can't rightly find it in myself to begrudge Potter his choice. More than half his life was spent fighting an uphill battle while carrying the hopes of the entire wizarding world and then the small sliver of happiness he had carved out for himself literally died beneath his fingertips. People can only take so much before they crumble."

Disbelievingly Luna looked up to him, her eyes gleaming strangely in the dim light, while she was trying to dry her tears with the back of her hand. "Since when have you become so wise, Dragon? I thought you'd be terribly mad at Harry when I told you the truth and you just had to prove me wrong, didn't you? Look at me... I am being utterly ridiculous about this whole thing!"

Shrugging uncomfortably, Draco's expression turned absent his mind lingering on all the changes the Wizarding World had undergone in such a short span of time. How many people had suffered because of the erroneous choices of a few witches and wizards, Draco himself very much included? Pensively he replied. "War changes people, I suppose. For better or worse, none of us will ever be the same we were when we went to Hogwarts... And Luna..."

He met her silver blue eyes, unflinching conviction and persuasiveness adding a hint of steel to his deliberately soft voice. "...I meant what I said. Don't blame yourself for grieving! Don't blame yourself in general. I know you too well petite étoile. But there's nothing you could have done to change this outcome and directing your anger at Po... er Harry is only natural. Maybe one day you'll find it in yourself to forgive him, but right now the pain is way too fresh. Raw. It would be nothing short of foolishness to expect logical arguments to win out against your instinctual emotional response. Not at first anyway."

_Circe, using Potter's given name felt awkward as fuck..._

"Have you ever stopped to blame yourself, Dragon? Accepted that there was nothing you could have done to save her? That in the end it was her choice to make and what feels like a betrayal to you was merely honouring and respecting her wishes?"

_How quickly the tables have been turned..._

His body tensed, as Draco fought off the overpowering urge to squirm under Luna's scrutinising gaze. Those questions hit way too close to home for his comfort and the reflexive statement 'Yes, of course' was already lingering on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be used in order to dismiss his cousin's intense line of questioning. However, chances were rather high, that Luna would be able to look through any pretences he might have used to guard his secrets, so he answered truthfully.

"I haven't." He would have been more than glad to leave the explanation at that, less was definitely more when it came to disclosing his emotions, but something in Luna's dejected expression compelled him to elaborate. "I wish I had. Merlin, I wish I knew how to do it in the first place. Maman wouldn't have wanted me to beat myself up about it, just like I'm sure Potter wouldn't have failed to understand of your initial reaction. That you allowed your grief to be overshadowed by resentment. The dead are generally more forgiving than the living, or so I've heard."

Thankfully his honesty appeared to have the desired effect, because Luna's slumped posture straightened a bit, while she inhaled a long breath reaching for Blaise's hand while tightening her grip on Draco's robes. "I think it is about time that we three left for the headquarter. We've lingered here far longer than I had initially planned, and I don't want to keep Hermione waiting longer than necessary. She must be going mad with worry by now!"

Surprisingly it was Blaise who pointed out the obvious weak point in Luna's plan, saying with thinly veiled concern lacing his voice. "Merlin knows, I won't complain about a safe place to stay, but do the people at your headquarter know about all this cousin and spying business?" He gestured pointedly from Luna to Draco and back again. "Because if not our arrival is bound to come as a nasty shock... Perhaps even cause the one or teh other heart attck.. And on a day when they've already lost the Chosen One, well, I for one am not overly convinced of the fact that a bunch of Gryffindors will be able to exercise enough self-restraint not to kill us on sight. Not when we stroll into their lion's den as if we've no better care in the world."

To Draco's surprise a sly grin began to spread over Luna's face, silver specks dancing mischievously in her eyes as she assured Blaise. "Hermione's actually expecting our arrival. I might have told her a thing or two about my mysterious cousin and his best friend, who've finally managed to escape the Dark Lord's clutches and seek to join us in our sanctuary. She was quite thrilled about it, I think more than anything she craves the distraction.

_Sweet Salazar..._

Draco's head swivelled back to his cousin, the sudden motion causing the tense muscles in his neck to ache in protest. His throat dry as sand, as his brain struggled to contextualise Luna's words. "No..." He groaned exasperatedly, while shaking his head in disbelief, eyes pleading with his cousin to deny what she had just disclosed to them. Why on earth did Luna think telling Granger about their impending arrival in such vague terms would turn out to be a good idea? "You wouldn't... Sweet Salazar you did, didn't you?"

"What's the matter, mate? Your reputation amongst the remaining followers of the Light side is arguably not much better than your aunt's. Better the Gryffindor Princess is prepared, otherwise she might've lost it as soon as she got as much as a glimpse of us. You know better than anyone that the witch can pack a punch if it's necessary." Apparently sensing Draco's mounting anger, Blaise raised his hands in surrender. "Just saying, I'd prefer to stay on her good side."

Inhaling a calming breath, Draco forced himself to remain calm while fixating his cousin with a stern expression who met his accusing gaze without hesitation. "Granger is undoubtedly a formidable witch but that's really not the point here. Yes, she's going to expect Luna's arrival as well as ours, but she has no clue that I am the 'mysterious cousin' Luna was talking about. Can you imagine her reaction when I, Draco Malfoy, the boy who did his very best to make her life at Hogwarts as horrible as possible and the youngest Death Eater ever... When I just turn up at her door and ask for asylum? Nasty shock doesn't quite describe the reaction I am expecting."

Understanding dawned on Blaise's sharply cut features, but before any of them had a chance to discuss the matter further Luna had exclaimed with an annoyed snort. "Rowena, Dragon, when are you going to stop being stupid about this? We really don't have time for your constant self doubt..."

And with those words the world began to spin around them, the apparition pulling the three of them away from their hideout at the willow until their surroundings morphed into high walls of stone. Warm torchlight painting shadows across the pillars and corners, the architecture eerily reminiscent of the craftsmanship that was prevalent in the oldest parts of Hogwarts. The crack of apparition announced their arrival, causing the woman sitting in the centre of the circular chamber to snap around, puffy red eyes widening in silent terror as she took in the unlikely group assembled in her hide out.

_Granger._

Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from her, faintly aware that he probably looked like a complete tosser. However he simply could not help himself: It felt so terribly surreal to see her after years of nothing more than stolen whispers and secondhand reassurances of her safety. Three years had passed since he had last seen the Gryffindor Princess, fighting a loosing battle in the smoking ruins of Hogwarts and those moments had consisted of a few stolen glances across a raging battlefield, while Granger had been engaged in a heated duel with both Dolohov and MacNair at the same time.

Firing and simultaneously dodging a barrage of curses in quick succession, she had made it look effortless, almost like a dance, her shield charms flaring with unconcealed power. Holding both Dark Wizards in check in order to buy the few remaining Order members enough time to regroup and collectively disapparate, while she had tried her best to reach the unconscious form of Harry Potter, half-buried beneath the rubble that had been left from the collapse of the Great Hall. Then Draco's mother had stepped in, using her last strength to levitate Potter in McGonagall's direction, before a binding curse wrapped around her. Effectively sealing her death sentence. As soon as Draco had seen their transfiguration teacher disapparate the lifeless Golden Boy tightly in her arms, he had fired a wordless curse at Dolohov's back, buying Granger enough time to vanish from the scene herself.

Now, she was standing only a few metres away, her wild hair tamed into a messy bun, her posture slumped as if the weight of the whole world was resting on her shoulders. Red rimmed eyes and blotchy skin telling a story of recent heartbreak and sorrow, even as rage contorted her features and her wand whipped through the air. A spell erupted from the tip rapidly racing towards him, but his battle honed reflexes saved him once again, the Incarcerus crushing uselessly against the shield charm he had procured.

"Malfoy."

Granger's cutting voice felt like a bucket of ice water was getting emptied over his head. The burning coldness covering him from head to toe. Brimming with the kind of abject loathing that made his heart throb painfully against his ribcage. He fought against the urge to dejectedly lower his head and take whatever damage she saw fit to inflict on him. It was not as if he did not deserve her ire, not after all the spiteful taunts Draco had unleashed on her and watching her as she got tortured on the floor of his home. Relieving some of the lingering tensions by allowing Granger to curse him into next week might be rather beneficial after the hell she had lived through. However, somehow he doubted that Granger would allow such reasoning to ease her conscience when she heard about his part in the war, especially if she managed to hurt him in a lasting capacity.

_No, continuing the shield charm is by far the better option..._

"Granger."

There was just the faintest flicker of uncertainty before she recovered her resolve, her expression turning hard as freshly forged steel as another line of curses crashed against his shield which trembled under the onslaught. The attack so much more powerful than anything Lucius had thrown against him mere hours ago and Draco would have been lying if he said that the events from earlier had not drained a good part of his magical energy. Holding his own against the Brightest Witch of her Age in his exhausted state would pose a considerable challenge. The magic imbued in the Black insignia itched in the hand that held his wand, urging him to retaliate against the perceived slight, but Draco resisted the temptation to answer the call of his blood.

_I don't want her to see me as even more of a threat than she already does!_

Around them he could hear the upset voices of Luna and Blaise, trying to reach Granger in her agitated state, but the Gryffindor witch was too preoccupied with their duel to pay them any heed. Spell after spell colliding with Draco's shield charm, while he still refused to meet her attacks with offensive spells of his own. They continued like this, fairly evenly matched: a battle of skill and intense ferocity until a turquoise spell that Draco had never seen before smashed against his defences, dismantling them within the blink of an eye. Leaving Draco dodging and sidestepping Grangers continued attacks, her spells rebounding from the stone-faced statues that lined the walls and coming dangerously close to Luna and Blaise who had been relegated to the sidelines of their duel.

_That's enough!_

Raising another shield Draco stepped forward, moving towards the witch while mentally preparing himself to conjure a new one as soon as Granger used the ominous spell that had thwarted his efforts the first time around. His advancement in her direction was slow and draining, fury sparking Granger's movements as he slowly backed her against the wall. Finally breaking his adamant refusal to attack her and his Expelliarmus catching her off-guard which allowed him to disarm her, a development that only fuelled her aggression, wand less curses raining down on him.

_Merlin, she is even more beautiful than I remembered..._

There was no denying that Granger made a stunning sight as they fought against each other, their little confrontation filling her expression with a liveliness that had been absent when they had first entered the hideout. Exhilaration from releasing the magic within her. Even if their battle mainly consisted of a complicated to and fro between the destruction and immediate rebuilding of Draco's shield charm. More friendly byplay than a true wizards duel, where the stakes were often life or death.

Her chest was heaving from the exertion, cheeks sporting a rosy flush, her whiskey eyes flaring with golden hues of fire and a few stray locks framing her face as she moved through the room with silent grace. Twists and turns. Delicate fingers twirling through the motions while she performed curse after curse, spell after spell. Hardly more than a handful of steps separated them from each other and Draco hurried to close the remaining gap until they were almost face to face the wall at her back confining her movements.

_Got you, witch!_

"I think that's the moment where you should yield, Granger." Both of them were breathing heavily, the sound echoing in the otherwise deadly silent room. Tensions still hanging in the air, but there was definitely less murderous energy between them, as the infuriating Gryffindor gave him a long measured look, probably already planning her escape from the less than advantageous position Draco had managed to manoeuvre her into. She flicked her tongue over her lips, obviously preparing a smart retort and Draco had to remind himself harshly not to stare at them like a bloody fool. Mesmerised by a witch who had just done her level best to defeat him in a duel, where he had done little more than block her attacks.

_Her curses were mostly harmless... At least towards the end..._

His lovestruck brain supplied, just as a mild stinging hex collided with his arm and caused him to jerk back, giving Granger all the room she needed to wriggle out of his grasp. However instead of resuming their fight like Draco had half expected her to do, the Gryffindor Princess stayed just out of his reach and met his expectant gaze with a minuscule amount of smugness. Eyebrows raised in a silent challenge of his earlier statement.

_The little vixen._

With a small bow Draco brandished Granger's wand, which he had caught during their fight, the soft vine wood vibrating softly beneath his fingertips as he held it in Granger's direction. Waiting with baited breath if the Gryffindor would accept the offer, symbolically agreeing to a tentative truce between them. Lowering his voice in order to avoid startling her, he explained with an almost sheepish expression. "No harm done, Granger. I told Luna that it wasn't the best idea to bring us here without telling you who you would room with in the foreseeable future. Must have been quite the shock, I am quite confident that I was pretty much the very last person you'd have expected to turn up."

If possible her eyebrows shot up even higher, climbing up until they nearly merged with her hairline as she reached for the wand, quickly snatching it out of his fingers and in the process accidentally brushing against his skin. The unexpected contact sending warm tingles of excitement through his arm.

"Look, Malfoy..."

"Draco. Please."

Calling Granger's expression flabbergasted would not have done it justice, utter bewilderment colouring her features as she reared back, staring at Draco as if he had just told her that the Dark Lord had sired a secret love child with Professor McGonagall, not simply asked her to call him by his first name. Then her amber eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, a hint of fear entering her demeanour, shoulders stiffening noticeably as the witch in front of him raised her wand. The sudden change in her behaviour causing Draco to take a caustic step back, trying his best to school his features into a familiar mask of indifference, despite her obvious apprehension.

_Well, honestly, what did you expect? You can't just make years of enmity disappear with one moment of civility._

"Luna!"

In spite of Granger's anguished outcry it was only after another moment that Draco noticed that her gaze was actually glued to a point right over his shoulder, prompting him to quickly spin on the spot. Just in time to see white flames flaring in a circle around Draco's cousin, who had moved into the centre of the room, Blaise standing to the side. Hands raised high in order to shield his eyes from the blinding light. Instinctually, Draco moved between Granger and the searing magic, watching in fascination as twelve lines of light emerged from the central fire. Red. Green. Blue and yellow. Connecting the four statues which lined the wall, with the inner circle and thusly forming the outlines of a four pointed star.

Wild whirls of magic originating from the centre swirled through the air like a raging autumn storm, scorching heat alternating with freezing temperatures, crushing pressure followed with moments of calm clarity. Then white pain exploded behind Draco's forehead, the unexpected onslaught forcing him down on his knees. A glance behind him confirmed that neither Hermione nor Blaise were faring any better, both crumpled on the floor their faces distorted in various states of agony. Only Luna appeared unaffected, her tall silhouette illuminated by the eery light, hands stretched towards the ceiling where a pulsating orb of energy had formed directly above her head.

Draco could see Luna's lips moving, while she was struggling through a rather lengthy incantation, but he couldn't make out the words as much as he tried. His cousin's face betrayed nothing, no trace of emotion besides intense concentration and undivided focus. However as soon as the last word had left her lips, the ritual completed, Luna went limp and collapsed on the floor. A wooden cassette clattering on the floor beside her. The hollow sound piercing through the haze of magic that surrounded them.

Every fibre of Draco's being screamed at him to try to reach Luna, to make sure she was alright, not mortally injured because she had tampered with magic she could not fully control. Nonetheless, the more rational part of his mind more than doubted his chances of success, since he was already nearing his limit. Bursts of pain lit his insights on fire, magic of an yet unknown force rushing through his veins, the pressure steadily increasing until he like his body might be bursting from the inside.

Instead he turned back to Granger who was seemingly frozen to the stone-floor, curled up into a fetal position, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees in an evidently futile attempt to shield herself from the increasingly agonising onslaught. Barely more than a single metre separated him from the Gryffindor Princess, a far more manageable distance than the seemingly insurmountable metres that kept him away from Luna. An assumption that was immediately put into question as Draco begun to crawl towards her, his movements aggravatingly slow. Stars danced in front of his eyes as the pain in his limbs raced towards unknown heights.

_Just one more move... One more..._

Finally Draco had reached Granger's trembling form, wrapping himself around her and covering as much of her body as possible without crushing her. As unlikely as it seemed that his protection might make a difference in the end, the least he could do was use his body to absorb the brunt of the magical attack.

In one last attempt to reach for Luna, he pushed his mind towards her, trying to catch one of her thoughts by using Legilimency. But there was nothing. Only emptiness. Sorrow clouded his senses, until, mere seconds before his world finally turned black, Draco finally heard Luna's voice resounding in his mind.

_Good! It is done. See you on the other side, brother._


	6. Echoes of the Past Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a dream and when he wakes up he is in a place he did not expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My very first attempt at poetry, well, beyond a few German rhymes for mothersday in fifth grade, anyway. So I'm quite excited to hear what you think. I really hope you like it :) It's also our first hint at the prophecies worked into the story, so that's always a plus...
> 
> It's not relevant now, probably not for a long time, but I am considering of changing the Main pairing of Blaise and Tom Riddle into a Theo/Blaise pairing, I'd love to hear your opinion on the subject.
> 
> Once again a split chapter, since I don't manage much more than 6000 to 10000 words in a week. Not with all the reworking I am doing before I consider a chapter to be complete.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any rights to the Harry Potter franchise!

My very first attempt at poetry, well, beyond a few German rhymes for mothersday in fifth grade, anyway. So I'm quite excited to hear what you think. I really hope you like it :) It's also our first hint at the prophecies worked into the story, so that's always a plus...

It's not relevant now, probably not for a long time, but I am considering of changing the Main pairing of Blaise and Tom Riddle into a Theo/Blaise pairing, I'd love to hear your opinion on the subject.

Once again a split chapter, since I don't manage much more than 6000 to 10000 words in a week. Not with all the reworking I am doing before I consider a chapter to be complete.

Chapter 3: Echoes of the Past Part 1

Draco was falling. Flying. Floating on the softest of clouds. Dreams were assaulting his senses: Incoherent images flitting in and out of his mind, while he was skirting around the edges of consciousness. An assembly of disturbing visions. Ever changing. The scenes transforming within the blink of an eye, morphing into a new set of overwhelming sequences. Voices drifting through the air, carrying whispers of a world yet to come and a future that had been lost.

_A castle lays broken, its spirit destroyed._

_Proud houses torn by an ancient divide_

Chess pieces. Black and White. Gigantic figurines of finely sculpted marvel reaching up high towards the sky, tense fog covering the ground and leaving the board beneath shrouded in obscurity. Battle drums resounded in the eery quiet and then, right after the echo of the very last beat had faded into silence, the pawns began to charge. Knights and bishops following suit, towers of solid stone colliding with each other in a thunderous crescendo of battlecries. Streaks of crimson splashing across the board, glistening darkly as it cut through the pristine white of the thin fog layer. Dust and the stench of freshly shed blood permeated the air and when the dirt had finally settled there was nothing left of the once proud armies. Only pieces of rubble. Black and White so closely intermingled that their collective colour had turned into a layer of dirty grey, their remains threatening to drown in a pool of blood.

_Friends bound by destiny, but split by fate,_

_Equally gifted with future's bleak weight_

There was a memory that stirred at those words, hidden meaning yearning to be unlocked, but Draco could not think straight, could not spare any of his time to dwell on a message that might be buried within the rhymes. A storm was brewing on the horizon, dark clouds approaching at an impossible speed, their imposing dark-grey expanse replacing the former clear night sky with its widely scattered stars and roaring thunder cutting through the ghostlike post-battle atmosphere. Cleansing raindrops hit the ground, fresh, life-bringing water spilling over the field of destruction and sweeping away all the grime and rubble. Eliminating the last remnants of the preceding fight and revealing a blank stone slate beneath it.

_Change demands balance, a dance across knives_

_'Cause peace can never reign where hatred thrives._

Greenery sprouted beneath Draco's bare feet, soft blades of freshly grown grass tickling against his skin, whilst a lonesome sapling began to rise from the last remaining pieces of rubble. Untouched by the floods which were slowly receding from the scene, before the middle of the levelled ground begun to cave in, its edges smoothly curving up. Straining towards the suddenly sunlit sky until the flourishing meadow had become the bottom of a rather picturesque valley. Nestled snugly between four hills, a sparkling stream splitting the hearty green almost perfectly in half, while the freshly rising breeze carried rose-coloured blossoms through the air. The source of the delicate-looking petals a solitary cherry tree, throning above the crystalline water which rushed around both sides of the massive black trunk, thusly creating a small tear-shaped island at the very heart of the valley.

_Insult earns violence! Those words ring true,_

_Crimson stained footsteps, lost history's due!_

Compelled by an inexplicable force Draco began his descent towards the tree, his strides purposeful and swift at least until he had reached the shore of the creek. After a moments hesitation he rolled up his trousers and leaving his pitch black robes crumpled on the stony shore behind him, as he stepped right into the gurgling water. Glacial wetness enveloping his legs straight up to his calves, a pleasant stinging sensation which made him feel more alive than he had for a long time, even if he could not quite pinpoint why exactly that might be the case. A sweet fragrance wafted through the air, intensifying as Draco waded through the creak in the direction of the island when he unexpectedly felt the stones he had been standing on disappear, which left him no choice but to swim against the merciless current.

_Time's straight path reversed by forgotten tears,_

_The puppets break free from their puppeteers_

Finally Draco collapsed on the shore of the island, his clothes clinging damply against his frozen skin, while he let his gaze drift over his surroundings. Noticing for the first time that the formerly rather small mountain creek had expanded, now stretching from his position towards the very edges of the valley, where a unicorn reared up on its hind legs. Silvery white hair flowing freely in the wind, the horn glinting. Above him, a Phoenix begun to sing a wistful lullaby, as Draco moved forward towards the cherry tree, the dark charcoal of the trunk contrasting sharply with the bright rose which bloomed on its countless branches.

_A lost maiden paid the ultimate prize,_

_bonds sealed in love let memories rise._

Three enormous snakes were draped around the ancient tree, guarding the golden fruits which were sprinkled between the blossoms. The biggest of them all -a horned serpent with piercing blue eyes- was coiled tightly around the trunk, the lower part of its tail brushing over the grass while it regarded Draco with an unreadable expression of haughty indifference. In spite of his deep-rooted aversion against the reptiles beyond their merely symbolical function as the honoured emblem of Slytherin house, Draco found himself admiring the beast as it twisted and turned: Its scales a vibrant shade of emerald, glazed with a thin sheen of rainbow colours which reminded him of mother of pearl in the midsummer sun. Adorning the serpents forehead, located right between the two curved horns, was a golden jewel its size easily comparable to a closed fist, which gave the unsettlingly realistic impression of an actual crown.

_Loyalty and courage come from within_

_Serpents will obey the words of their king!_

Right above it, slouched on one of the lowest and therefore most stable branches was a fully grown runespoor, burned yellow replacing the usually more muted orange tones as the three heads bobbed up and down apparently engaged in their very own quarrel. A bit higher up, curled around a thick branch was a baby basilisk, its head lowered as if to protect Draco from its petrifying glare. Hissing sounds cut through the air, sending tiny shivers of fear down his spine, as unknown runes began to glow ominously all over the dark bork and the horned serpent reared its head. Dashing towards him at a record speed, before Draco had any chance to react, wings sprouting from its back as it transformed into a majestic dragon missing him by mere inches as it took off. Flying directly into the burning orb of the golden sun, closely followed by the Phoenix whose song had turned into a vengeful battlecry.

_Stars born from fire must helm the fight_

_United, at last, with the haunted man's bride!_

For a short moment there was no sound interrupting the stunned silence as the world waited with baited breath for the inevitable fallout. Even the wind had quieted down and the small waves on the lake stood frozen in time. Then the sun erupted in an explosion of epic proportions, engulfing the sky in her burning wrath. Waves of pressure and unforgiving heat crushing him against the dried out ground, nothing but ash and death remaining from the lush utopia. Scorching heat bloomed in his chest, fire racing through his veins. Rendering Draco incapable of moving. Thinking. Breathing. Of doing anything beyond enduring the sizzling pain that seared through his body. Blood boiling. Skin blistering. Hurt. Flames. Pain. Ash. Agony.

_Two scheming masters consumed by their war_

_Death and destruction will never be far!_

Draco wanted to scream until his lungs revolted. Wavering undecidedly between clinging desperately to the barest remnant of his life thread or simply conceding defeat and yielding to the wrath of nature. Giving into his secret yearning for the gentle arms of death to hold him in a chilling embrace, granting a momentary reprieve from the constant torment of his already overloaded senses. Brief salvation from the all encompassing current of agony spasming through his body. However, there was something... A niggling sensation at the back of his mind. Someone. People who needed him. Faces flashed through his mind. Anchoring him. Invisible chains keeping him tied to the mortal plane. Giving up, essentially abandoning his friends, his family to face their fate alone, was by no means an acceptable option.

_'See you on the other side, brother!'_

Luna.

His sweet cousin.

Caring and yet mysterious.

The little sister he'd always wished for.

Blaise.

Brother at heart.

Passionate and steadfast.

The friend he'd believed to have lost.

Hermione Granger

Unapologetic bookworm.

Insufferable Know It All.

The Brightest Witch of her Age.

Gryffindor's bushy-haired Princess.

The Golden Girl with the heart of a lioness.

Fighter for all things broken and causes long lost.

Granger's warm, whiskey eyes flitted through his mind.

Remarkably expressive, and one of the most mesmerising features of the muggleborn witch who had captured his heart so irrevocably, against all odds and rules of rationality.

Just thinking about her, remembering the small flashes he had caught and treasured throughout the years, supplied a much needed distraction from the blistering heat: Her hand shooting up in Severus' very first potions class, brimming with enthusiasm. Early morning light hitting her chestnut locks, giving them a bronze-like shimmer. How she bit her lip when she brooded over a particularly difficult translation. Amortentia in sixth year. Assaulting his senses with the subtle fragrance of lilacs and hints of sour lemongrass, intermingled with the christmassy scent of freshly baked cinnamon-apple tarts, wood polish and old parchment.

Quite unexpectedly the pain receded. Soothing cold washing over his body, mending the destruction caused by the explosion and prompting Draco to open his eyes in shock. Blinking against the blinding brightness, as he tried to gather his thoughts, the events of the evening replaying in front of his inner eye: Meeting with Bella and the Dark Lord at the Manor. The fight with Lucius. Theo's betrayal. Using Legilimency on Blaise and cursing him with the torturing curse, as well as their subsequent dramatic exit. Talking with his friend, while they were waiting for Luna. His cousin's devastated state, when she appeared on the scene. Receiving the message of Potter's death. Draco's duel with Granger and the magical ritual that had ended with all of four of them collapsed on the cold stones.

_Sweet Salazar, Luna, a warning wouldn't have come amiss. Did you at least tell Hermione what in Merlin's name, you were hoping to accomplish? Or was she just as blindsided as Blaise and I were?_

He shifted uncomfortably, the minuscule movement sending angry spasms through his already aching limbs. Somehow his body felt off, even beyond the general state of bodily discomfort, he had found himself in. Awkward. Foreign. Desynchronised. Almost as if his sore muscles had forgotten how to effectively coordinate their movements.

_One problem at a time!_

Draco reminded himself sternly. Still incapable of seeing anything beyond ghostly shapes and foggy outlines, he squeezed his eyes shut, reaching for the magic swirling within him. Weak as he felt, there was precious little use in blindly searching the surrounding area for his wand, only leaving wand-less magic as his last resort. Concentrating on the familiar sensation of the periodical rising and falling of his, at the moment close to nonexistent, core energy, Draco directed his focus on pushing a good portion to the outside.

_Crepusculo._

He felt the magic pour out of him, fairly relieved that he had managed to perform the spell, in spite of the almost to instantaneous wave of utter exhaustion that crushed into him. At least a quick glance, directed through hooded eyelashes, revealed that the light had mellowed somewhat, just as he had intended it to do: Giving way to a dim twilight, which allowed Draco a closer inspection of his surroundings, gaze flitting anxiously from surface to surface.

_Fuck!_

With a sudden jolt, Draco shot up, his head spinning as dark spots began to dance in front of his eyes. A harsh reprimand for his way too abrupt movements. Merlin's bloody beard, he groaned, a mixture of frustration due to his physical limitations and disorientation caused by the rather drastic change in his surroundings. Gone was the windowless curve of solid stone. The four statues lining the wall, as well as Blaise and Luna nowhere in sight. Granger's lithe form, formerly squished between him and the hard ground, replaced by solid dark wood and pillowy sheets of flowing marine-blue silk.

_High ceilings. Heavy curtains. Blue silk sheets. Ebony. Dragon adorned crest, an 'M' at its centre. Falmouth falcon posters._

Well, that certainly settled the question if he was still trapped within the confines of his imagination. There was literally no conceivable explanation for his current predicament, because why in Merlin's name would any ominous magical ritual send him to Malfoy Manor, of all places? Transferring him right into his childhood bed, no less... In a room he had not entered in what felt like basically forever... Since the Easter holiday's before the Battle of Hogwarts to be exact. After his mother's death, there had really been no point in staying at the Manor, which he had immediately exchanged for his own cottage on the edges of Hogsmeade.

Draco's eyes travelled further through the room, eventually settling on the sleeping figure of a woman, who was resting in an armchair at his bedside. Her upper body slumped forward, sprawled across the sheets, fingers outstretched towards Draco as if trying to grasp his hand. Realisation hit him like a brick-wall, breath catching in his throat, as his heart stuttered violently, and his eyes began to burn with unshed tears.

_None of this is real! There's no way... It can't! It simply can't!_

"M... Maman?" Draco choked out, his voice hoarse from prolonged disuse. She looked just like he preferred to remember her: Proud and contained, despite the air of calm peacefulness, sleep tended to grant even the most wary of souls. Not one of the silky locks of her long black hair was out of place, bound back and arranged into a meticulous braid. Bluish shadows beneath her closed eyelids, betrayed a lack of sleep. However, it was nowhere near the dark bruises of exhaustion, which had become a permanent fixture on her face after the Dark Lord had moved into the Manor.

Narcissa Malfoy stirred, her head rising, Draco's broken plea apparently enough to rouse her from her light slumber. For the blink of an eye she looked startled, gaze sweeping frantically across the room. An expression that felt so atypical, so terribly out of place on the usually perfectly composed Lady of Malfoy Manor that Draco simply could not help the beginning of a smirk curling around his lips. Then her eyes flew to his face. The anthracite orbs that claimed her as a member of the Black family, widening almost imperceptibly as they met his stormy mercury.

Accompanied by a heavy sigh, his mother leaned forward, quietly reaching for his hand. Slender fingers squeezing tightly, almost as if she was afraid Draco might vanish into thin air, as soon as she eased her hold on him. And even if the pressure hurt quite a bit, he relished the warmth of her touch, the comforting softness that spread throughout his chest. His elation temporarily overriding the fact that he was quite painfully aware, that this was nothing more than yet another hallucination. A mere figment of his overactive imagination. Admittedly far more pleasant, and straightforward now that he thought about it, than the ones that had preceded it, but still: Hardly more than any other dream, destined to fade away at any given moment.

"Draco?" His mother's voice was soft, almost hesitant, and Morgana, did it hurt. To know that she was gone. That memories and dreams were all that remained of her. Regret curled in Draco's stomach, dull pain twisting his insides, with a force he hadn't felt in a long time. Had not allowed himself to feel, since he had covered his mother's grave with a field of flowers. Regret for all the words that had been left unspoken, for the opportunities they might have missed and which would never come again. Regret for the lingering resentment. For once believing their estrangement had been by her choice, that she had abandoned him to Lucius' 'tender mercies' without a second glance.

"Oh, I've been so terribly worried for you, mon cheri." Concern suffused his mother's words and Draco returned his focus to her, grateful for any distraction from the dark turn his thoughts had so inadvertently taken.

"M...mother." He fell back, a dumb sound resounding when his head hit the pillow mountains amassed behind him, inky blackness exploding in his forehead. Afraid that he might pass out at any moment, possibly loosing his only opportunity, imaginary or not, to get the slightest semblance of closure, Draco allowed the words to spill forth. His rusty vocal chords straining under the effort. "I... I love you... Maman. I'm sorry that I never... never told you that... enough. Wasn't..." Bitterness crept into his expression, as he mumbled his way through the last part. "Wasn't the Malfoy way."

It felt impossibly good to say it out loud. Freeing. Even if Draco seriously doubted that his confession would have come out with so much raw honesty, if he was not convinced, -beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt-, that nothing about this conversation was in any way, shape or form rooted in reality. Baring his soul so entirely was not in his nature, went against the instinct to protect himself, to protect his heart from the inevitable hurt and heartbreak that would follow such a declaration.

_Salazar, I'm so fucked up!_

Something shattered in his mother's expression, her mask of aloof indifference splintering, breaking into small shards and allowing flickers of her emotions to shine through the fracture lines. Fondness. Concern. Longing. Love. So much love, that it made his heart ache with yearning. Squeezing his chest with the irrational and yet overpowering desire to stop the merciless current of time, allowing him to relive this very moment over and over again.

Nonetheless, Draco's eyes fell shut. Nimue, he felt so awfully tired. Brought to his utmost limit. Drained. Physically as well as mentally exhausted. There was more, so much more that he wanted, no, needed to say to her. Questions that had plagued his mind for years. Matters that had to be discussed, but still he could not quite bring himself to fight off the all-consuming tiredness that threatened to overtake him. Perhaps, they would both be able to find some peace, now that he had told her at least a tiny fraction of the burden he had carried in his heart.

Peace and quiet.

Darkness.

Sleep.

His increasingly incoherent musings got unexpectedly interrupted, when he felt a cool palm brushing against his forehead, tugging away a few stray strands of his platinum hair which had fallen in his face. Afterwards his mother's hand lingered for a moment, trying to gauge his temperature, a gesture which was quickly followed by a gentle whisper. "Thank Merlin, your fever has finally broken. Sleep now, my sweet boy, you need every bit of rest that you can get. I'll be back in a minute. Salazar, Severus will be so glad to hear that you've finally woken up." Listening to her retreating steps, her stiff, conservative dress-robes rustling over the massive oak boles, questions began to bubble within him. Struggling to make sense of his mother's words before the darkness of sleep engulfed him once again.

_Fever? Should I be more offended that she called me her 'sweet boy'? And what on earth is uncle Sev doing here? Perhaps, I've got it all wrong and I'm already dead... Would go a long way to explain some things... But then I've always thought death wasn't supposed to hurt so damn much._

This time around there were neither dreams nor nightmares haunting his sleep. Just blank nothingness. And oddly enough, entirely against all of Draco's expectations, the setting hadn't changed in the slightest when he woke up again. His mother was still vigilantly guarding his bedside, warm morning light dripping through the crack between the curtains and catching in the assortment of emptied potion vials lined up on his nightstand. He pushed himself up, noting with mild annoyance that his body still felt weirdly foreign to him, despite the fact that he was incontestably more lucid than he had been earlier.

_How positively ordinary for an hallucination. No grand magical displays, or ominous . I could have dreamed up anything, and I ended up in my own bed, while my mother nurses me back to health._

_What was Luna's last thought? 'See you on the other side, brother?'_

_Is this 'it', this other side she was referring to?_

_Are we all dead? Finally reunited with our loved ones, after all the pain and sorrow?_

_Would Luna be capable of deliberately ending our lives?_

_Denying us any choice in the matter? A final coup de grace?_

Even contemplating the possibility, felt like comitting a terrible betrayal against his cousin, not to mention how harshly it contradicted anything Draco believed to know about Luna's character. Setting all personal judgements regarding her motives aside, if Luna had actually wanted to kill all four of them, why go through all the trouble of casting a ritual with questionable outcome in the first place? Certainly there were other, easier, far more predictable or, at the very least, less painful ways to partake in orchestrated suicide. No! Death had certainly not been the intended outcome, Draco had little to no doubt about that. Frowning in concentration, he tried to sort through the logically viable scenarios.

_Merlin, this thing's already adding to my headache..._

Option number one and by far the most plausible scenario considering the sheer force of the magic Luna had invoked, was that regardless of her lack of murderous intentions, a grave mistake in casting the ritual had resulted in an incontrollable burst of magic causing his, or even worse their, violent deaths. Major point in favour of this theorie was the fact that Draco's only action so far had been a feverish conversation with his late mother, involving references to his apparently not so dead godfather. Nevertheless, there were also some observations which undermined such a theory.

For one, Draco had always assumed the fields of death would be more peaceful, a realm devoid of the innumerable ailments of human existence. He most certainly didn't feel anything close to the serenity and calmness, one would commonly ascribe to the afterlife, which to be fair might turn out to be a misconception on his part, but still... Another, considerably less subjective and therefore by far more convincing, counterargument against Draco's 'death hypothesis', was the deep-seated relief that had emanated from Luna's words in his head. 'It's done!' did not sound like something his cousin would have thought, if the ritual in question had gone awry and the caster was usually the very first to feel the shift of energy in case they lost their control over the powers they had called upon.

The second and not easily dismissible conclusion would be that Draco's current contemplations were all effectively pointless, since all of his surroundings were nothing except highly convincing products of his imagination. Hallucinations just like the dream of chess and snakes, born in the recesses of his mind because the blast from the ritual had knocked him out cold and his subconscious, in all its nonexistent wisdom, had determined this to be an 'excellent' moment to confront him with the two people whose deaths had affected him the most.

 _Fucking piles of dragon dung,_ if you asked him, _although it would certainly explain his bodily discomfort, the unfortunately real magic induced pain weaving itself into the fabric of his dreams._

_Great, a theory that's impossible to either prove or disprove. At least based on the information I currently have at my disposal._

However, as dissatisfying as such a prospect appeared at first, second and third glance, it had nothing, like nothing at all, on the ludicrousness which was the third option to pop into Draco's head.

' _Perhaps_ ', or so he mused idly, _'Perhaps, the ritual has done its work just as Luna had wanted it to do. Could it be that the transfer to my childhood bedroom, where my supposed to be dead mother guards my bedside, -presumably soon joined by my equally supposed to be dead godfather- had always been the intended outcome...'_

Yeah right, because that sounded oh so plausible, _insert snarky sarcasm and an exaggerated eye roll for good measure._ What would have been the point? In comparison even the idea that the last five years of his life had been nothing more than a fever induced fantasy, appeared to hold more merit. It certainly was the less farfetched option of the two. Before Draco had the chance to theorise further, loosing himself once and for all in wild speculations, his mother began to shift, her eyes flying open. Determined not to waste a perfect opportunity to gather information, he croaked out.

"Maman? What... What happened?"

With a slightly strained smile, his mother straightened up. Delicate hands smoothing out the barely there wrinkles of her moss-coloured robes, eyelids lowered a bit, voice careful almost hesitant. "You came down with a heavy fever, about two weeks ago, mon cheri. Do you remember that night?"

_What is it with that stupid fever?_

Unbidden a memory floated to the forefront of his mind: Waking in the middle of the night, chills wracking his body, the soaked sheets clinging damply to his frame. Stab-like headaches and staggering heat. Feeling utterly helpless, stripped of any pretences of dignity, fear gripping his heart as he called for Dobby, his personal house elf. Wait, wait, wait! Stop! There was something incredibly wrong about that last sentence. Dobby?

_Why in Merlin's name, would I call for Dobby?_

Not that he did not like the quirky elf but, gosh, Draco must have been far beyond the point of lucidity to ask for a dead house elf in his hour of need. Panicking because of a fever, as unusual as such maladies and illnesses were in the Wizarding World, was another point that did not sit quite right with him. Such terror was reserved for life-threatening situations and insolvable dilemma's of morality, not a rather harmless rise in body temperature. And Dobby, Salazar bless his soul, the last thing Draco had seen of the brave, little elf had been after asking for his aid in freeing the Golden Trio during their short stint at Malfoy Manor. Years after Potter had tricked Lucius into releasing Dobby from the bounds of servitude that had tied him to the Malfoy family.

_One of Potter's finer moments, I'll admit as much. Very cunning. Could've almost passed for a Slytherin move if Golden Boy wasn't such a consummate Gryffindor._

Relegating this thought to the sidelines, he nodded faintly, not pointing out how faulty the memory appeared to him. "When Dobby found you, Draco, you were already delirious. Muttering about incoherent nonsense. You looked a fright, darling, and none of the standard potions I usually keep stocked, helped you to recover or at least alleviated the symptoms. Every healer and curse breaker I consulted, had to admit defeat and even the most obscure diagnostic spells came up empty."

_Well, maybe not so harmless after all..._

His mother inhaled a deep, steadying breath, her usually ironclad composure wavering. "After none of the conventional methods proved to be effective, I contacted your godfather who practically burned through his potions cabinet in his pursuit of a cure for you. Since then he's been staying at the Manor, brooding over his rolls, whenever he hasn't been whipping up an experimental draught. I don't know what I would've done without him. Severus was almost as worried as I was, barely sleeping or eating anything until your fever broke yesterday."

It took Draco's mind quite some time to process the steady stream of information his mother had provided him with. By now he was fairly sure that he either had the most ridiculous imagination or that the Wizarding afterlife had gone completely bonkers. His supposed to be dead mother and his supposed to be dead godfather had been joined by the supposed to be dead house elf, he had barely seen for what? Nine years, maybe even ten? And godfather or not: Severus Snape, the insanely private and emotionally closed off potion master, had apparently spent the last ten days in a frantic frenzy because Draco had contracted a fever? The whole thing was madness, complete and utter madness.

_Still, probably better to play along. At least until I've got a better grasp of the situation._

Thusly resolved regarding his immediate course of action, Draco replied with reassuring insistency, a bit taken aback by the unnaturally high pitched quality his voice had taken, now, that he could feel the rough hoarseness from earlier receding. "You shouldn't have worried yourself so much, Maman. Blacks are fighters, if nothing else. There's no way I would succumb to something as trivial as a wee bit of fever."

"Oh, Draco..." A choked sound, dangerously close to a sob escaped her throat, as her face crumpled under the weight of the emotions she had most likely suppressed for the better part of the last two weeks. Her sudden breakdown prompted Draco to lean forward, disregarding the needle like stabs piercing his skull, while he reached for his mother's hand and gave it a disconcertingly weak squeeze. "I thought I'd lost you for good... my sweet child. My only... I would've never forgiven myself, if..."

"Shush now, Mother! There's nothing to forgive yourself for. I've certainly seen better days, but it'll be alright. It'll all be alright, I promise." Trying to direct the conversation in a slightly different direction, Draco asked, hopefully distracting his mother from the hours of worry she had apparently spent agonising over his fate. "Is uncle Sev still here? It sounds like I owe him a debt of gratitude. Not only for trying to heal me, but for supporting you as well."

Taking in a shuddering breath, Draco's mother righted herself, dark eyes crinkling as she stated with a reluctant quirk of her lips. "Merlin, Draco you sound so terribly grown up, when you talk like that. Dobby!"

Draco sputtered indignantly, ready to point out that he was most definitely grown up, thank you very much, but then a mad thought struck him like a stinging jinx. His breath hitched, eyes flying down his body. Darting from his small hands and way too thin arms to the place where his shrunken body disappeared beneath the blue blanket. Thankfully Dobby chose that exact moment to pop into the room, because otherwise Narcissa Malfoy would have certainly noticed the look of abject horror that crossed Draco's face.

_Merlin, Luna what have you done?_

Although only a mirror could deliver the last, the final piece of confirmation and Draco was still halfway inclined to classify this whole experience as a vivid hallucination, many of the little pieces suddenly fell into place. Like a particularly difficult puzzle that was finally coming together and revealing its intricate mosaic of colours. Sweet Salazar, the longer he thought about it the more sense he could make out of it. He might have pieced it together sooner, if he had not been so preoccupied with his conversation with his mother.

_It would explain so much..._

Maman. Severus. Dobby. How his body felt strange, the movements stilted and uncoordinated, almost as if it belonged to someone else. How his voice had slipped, transformed, the once full timbre, silky and smooth, replaced by a way higher and much more awkward spectrum. How a closer inspection of his body, revealed the proportions of a child. Twelve years at most, and that was a rather generous guess. It seemed so obvious now. Even though Draco still had a hard time to wrap his head around the fact that, provided his hunch turned out to be correct, Luna had found a way to achieve something that was thought to be impossible.

_'Time is a curious thing, cousin.'_

The words, spoken so many years ago, echoed through his mind, almodst mocking him for paying so little heed to them at the time. Trapped in his bubble of misery as he had been. Luna's ritual had thrown them back in time, just like the voices in his dream, -Or had it been a vision?-, had promised. 'Times straight path reversed by forgotten tears' Well, at least Draco hoped that the others had made it through as well. If he was stuck here without anyone from the original timeline... his timeline... Draco shuddered at the daunting prospect of being all alone, stranded in a reality that wasn't his own.

_No, I need to keep my focus! Now more than ever. I'll cross that bridge when I get there and not a second earlier._

Involuntarily his gaze snapped down towards the outlines his bare forearm, where the dark mark had once been brandished deep into his skin, marking him as an over-glorified slave, subordinate to the whims of a homicidal madman. However, instead of the loathed brand or just plain skin as he had expected, there was an angry red burn-scar, running in ragged zigzag brushes across the pale canvas.

_Some scars are apparently meant to withstand even the most impressive displays of magic._

"...maybe fetch some soup as well. We need to get some food into you, mon cheri."

"Yes, mistress. Dobby will brings soup for young master." With a small crack, the small house elf popped away and his mother turned back to Draco. It took a lot of effort on his part not to betray his tumultuous state of mind, but he managed to keep his voice even enough as he shot his mother a grateful look. "Soup sounds great, Maman." After a thoughtful silence he asked. "Is father here?" He almost choked on the word 'father', but it would hardly be considered appropriate to call him Lucius. Not when he wanted to fit seamlessly into the role of a ten, eleven or twelve year old Draco Malfoy.

_Fuck! Circe, no!_

Coldness washed over him like a bucket of freezing water, as the last sentence registered properly in his mind and its implied consequences begun to manifest in concrete thoughts. He would need to fill the shoes of a young Draco Malfoy, a role with so many facets he had come to detest over the years and had tried his hardest to leave behind, firmly rooted in the past: The powerful and pampered pureblood prince. The hate-speech spouting schoolyard bully. The victim, helpless in the face of his much stronger enemy. Draco grit his teeth, shoulders tensing. It had taken him so terribly long, to become his own person, grow beyond the darkness that had dictated his whole life. To determine his own values and then stay true to them, even in the face of a raging civil war.

_Could I act as if none of it ever happened? Could I cower in front of Lucius and pretend to be the dutiful and, above all, obedient mirror image he so dearly desires? Control my anger when he mistreats Maman, even with the knowledge that I can face him in a duel and quite easily remain victorious? Allow him to touch me, to tolerate the feeling of his hands hitting my skin, as the punches come raining down._

_The hands of mother's murderer._

_Could I stand Lucius curses burn through my body, all the while pretending to be helpless? Submit, when every fibre of my being yearns to fight him, to make him suffer for what he's done? Relive the same fucking nightmare all over again, when I've only just gotten my long awaited revenge?_

Quite frankly speaking, Draco did not have a straight answer to all those questions whirling through his head. Theoretically it was manageable, that much he was sure of, at least if Draco really put his mind to perfecting the ruse. Concealing his own emotions, hiding his true feelings beneath an unreadable mask of indifference, a necessity when dealing with Lucius, had become second nature by now. His strict pureblood upbringing combined with years of navigating the muddy backwaters of Slytherin politics and later double-crossing the Dark Lord, ensuring absolute proficiency in that area.

Occluding his mind would be a mere technicality. After all, Draco had spent five years fending off the three most accomplished mind mages of their century. First Dumbledore and Severus during his sixth year at Hogwarts, because as utterly indisputable as his godfather's fondness for him had been at that point in time, the indiscernible net of interfering loyalties that surrounded the surly potion master had kept Draco from confiding in him. Besides, the knowledge would not have done Severus any good, in such cases it was generally better to leave matters shrouded in obscurity. Later on, not even the Dark Lord had been able to broach his defences. Lucius himself, while a halfway decent Occlumens and to a lesser extent Legilimens, did not come anywhere near matching their talent at the craft.

As for the corporal punishment and vicious lashings Lucius tended to use in order to properly impress the severity of Draco's perceived shortcomings upon his son: While certainly not the most enjoyable experience imaginable, it paled in comparison to the regular 'training sessions' with Bellatrix which had more than once brought him within an inch of his life. So being able to withstand the older wizard's abuse was definitely not the issue. Nonetheless, Draco would have been lying if he had claimed to be fond of a trip down that particular memory lane.

_Which is actually the crux of the matter, isn't it? All of these things are well within the realm of my capabilities, but why should I subject myself to that? And besides, timeline or not, if Lucius dares to lay hand on Maman which is nigh unavoidable if memory serves correctly, I'll find a way to make him rue the day he was brought into this world..._

Before Draco had resolved the issue to his personal satisfaction, his mother's slightly sharpened voice cut through his thoughts. "Your father had urgent business to attend to. However, he has taken the time to express his pleasure upon receiving word of your recovery and relayed through owl that he might consider to return a week early, in spite of the fact that his continued presence at the Malfoy properties in France is apparently of the utmost importance." Narcissa's lips had thinned into a fine line, a testament to the fact that she obviously didn't appreciate Lucius careless dismissal of the wellbeing of their shared son.

_Lucius is in France? Well, that excludes second year from the list. If I had to wager a guess I'd say the summer before first year..._

Draco had to bite his lip and let his face drop to display an adequate level of disappointment, when in truth this news could not have been more welcome. A premature confrontation with Lucius was just about the last thing he needed at the moment. Then he smoothed out his features sloppily, so that there was still a lingering air of sadness surrounding him, as if his following request pained him quite a bit.

"How thoughtful of father to send his well wishes. Maman... I hate to ask you something like this, but would you be so kind and write to father for me? Please... tell him that his well wishes are most appreciated and that I am exceedingly... grateful for his generous offer to delay his business dealings on my behalf. However, since I am in no doubt of my fast... and wholesome recovery, there will be no need for his premature return. The advancement of the Malfoy name must always take... precedence over mere matters of emotion, and I am well aware of my duty as his son and heir. Perhaps, add an 'Sanctimonia vincet semper' at the end."

If anybody had told Draco at any given time before this day, that he would be able to render the ever-stoic pureblooded ice queen Narcissa Aurelia Malfoy speechless, he would have called them a dirty liar without a second thought. However there she was, staring at him, as if he had suddenly turned into a three headed snake, or something of equally bewildering nature. Haltingly, she eventually stated, quizzically searching his gaze for any hint of dishonesty. She had most likely expected him to throw a tantrum or at least to turn into a sulking mess at his father's demonstrative indifference. "Of... of course, Draco. If that is your wish."

"Thank you, Maman." Draco gifted her with a small smile, trying to smooth over the disconnect in his behaviour with a show of affection. Maybe he had underestimated the extent of his self-absorbed brattishness at age ten to eleven. "I would craft the letter myself, but I am worried my penmanship might have suffered quite a bit under recent events. Two weeks of feverish delirium, certainly take their toll on the body."

"Hopefully not for too long. Severus has promised me..." She was interrupted by the clicking of the door, which opened to reveal the dark silhouette of the potions master. Signature black robes flowing around him, as he swept into the room, _no one could rightly claim that he doesn't know how to make a dramatic entrance_. "Oh. Severus, there you are. I was just telling Draco, that you will stay at the Manor until he has fully recovered from this ordeal. Your recipe for strengthening potions, was always far superior to mine."

A fond smile ghosted over Narcissa's aristocratic features, reminding Draco of the easily overlooked reality that theirs was a rare friendship, forged in their early Hogwarts years and hardened by the fires of the first Wizarding war. Both at the heart of the war effort of the Dark side, old housemates, similar in age and temperament, their close relationship read like a foregone conclusion, helped along by Lucius's profitable sponsorship of the younger Death Eater. Nonetheless, Draco had always felt like their light banter and easy conversations betrayed a bond that went far beyond mere convenience or the cautious tolerance which was so characteristic of solely business related association.

Severus raised his eyebrows, prompting Draco to suck in a deep breath, taken by surprise at the forceful of emotions that welled in his heart. Talking with his mother had been surreal enough, but somehow their interaction had happened at a natural pace, easing Draco into the interaction. In sharp contrast, Severus' arrival had happened within the blink of an eye, leaving him completely helpless in the face of the torrent of regret and wistfulness that overtook him. He owed his godfather so much more than mere words could ever hope to express.

Eyes bouncing between the two people who he had failed to protect in the original timeline Draco vowed to himself that he would not allow them to suffer the same fate a second time.

_I'll find a way to keep you two safe. And if its the last thing I do._


	7. Echoes of the Past Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Narcissa are joined by Severus, who tries not to look too relieved that Draco has survived the mysterious ‘fever’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sry for the delay, things have been quite hectic recently...
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos, reviews etc. on the last chapter :) The support is very much appreciated!
> 
> And unfortunately no Hermione for another two chapters, since Draco's going to visit Diagon alley and meet Harry etc. but I tried to keep it as short as possible until they meet up on the Hogwarts Express!
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter!

"I'm not one to be swayed by idle flattery, Cissa, one would think you of all people would have learned that after all those years."

"Have a seat, Severus" Narcissa 'Cissa' Malfoy gestured to a newly transfigured black armchair at her side, eyes twinkling in amusement despite the potions master's use of the nickname she so dearly despised. "And I dare say there's no wizard in this tediously superficial world, who can rightfully claim to be above a little honest admiration... Not even you my dear friend, as much as you would usually prefer to pretend otherwise. Besides, the compliment is by no means unwarranted... Your talent as a potion master is well known, far beyond the British Isles, so there's hardly any shame in my acknowledgement of your incontestable superiority on the subject."

"Such high praise, coming from the witch who had partnered with me for our NEWT potions project. You're hardly a lightweight in the art of potionmaking, even if your strengths lie in the more traditional Black territory. O's in Transfiguration and Defense if I remember it correctly and I most certainlly do..." The drawn out sarcastic drawl made Draco snort indignantly, for a short moment unburdened by the painful memories threatening to bear down on him. Ignoring them in favour of heartfelt nostalgia that spread through Draco like a potent calming draught. It had definitely been too long since he had had the opportunity to enjoy Severus' distinctive brand of dry commentary. Their easy banter forgotten in the face of Draco's rather unseemly behaviour the adults returned their attention to the blond wizard. "Ahh Draco. I've to admit I am glad to see you on the way of recovery. You gave your poor mother quite the scare."

_Oh, this is going to be so much fun..._

Quite amused at his godfather's rather roundabout way to voice his own worries by ascribing them to Draco's mother, Draco gave Severus a knowing look. "I imagine so... It seems like I owe you both an apology for causing you such distress. As mother tells it, even my ever so stoic godfather was quite concerned about my wellbeing, if you can even fathom such an outrageous claim, uncle Sev."

"Did she now?" Severus looked distinctly unamused at such a prospect, his disapproval evident in the annoyed glare he directed at Draco's mother, as he settled in the chair the Lady of Malfoy Manor had so easily transfigured for him. "Why ever, would you fill my godson's head with such fantastical notions, Cissa?"

_Fantastical notions is certainly ONE way to put it... Borderline insanity another... Even if Severus' reaction is all the confirmation I needed._

If the potions master had honestly expected his atypically uninspired diversion tactics to work on the well versed society witch, one look at Narcissa Malfoy's unimpressed expression disabused him of any such notion soon enough. Frankly speaking, Draco had often wondered why Severus still bothered to go toe to toe with Draco's mother... He should have realised by now that winning a confrontation with the reigning queen of pureblood society was an exceedingly rare occurrence.

Lucius' regular appliance of brute force being the tragic exception to the rule, but Severus did not even know that yet, did he?

_Or at least not the actual extent of it..._

Even as a young child, feelings of abandonment and selfrighteous resentment burning in his heart, Draco had not been oblivious to the air of melancholic sadness that hung around his ever-absent mother. He had noticed how she, the ever blooming picture of silent grace and dignity, had wilted away as soon as her husband had made his presence known to her. Had uncomprehendingly observed how she had shied away from his touch, skittish and uncomfortable in the face of Lucius unwanted advances. How, on the exceedingly rare occasion where his mother had dared to voice her disagreement with her husband, the powerful Lord had often advanced in her direction. Posture threatening, demeanour akin to a fearsome predator stalking his alarmed prey. Primal in a way that Draco, conservative upbringing and all that, could not have hoped to understand at the time.

It was only in retrospect, years after Severus had been disconcertingly agitated when he had caught a glimpse of such an altercation during Draco's biweekly occlumency training, that the teenager had understood how well his mother had shielded him from the horrors she had had to endure. Just like Draco had never allowed Narcissa to see the extent of Lucius' cruelty, knowing all too well how heartbroken she would have been if he had burdened her with such knowledge. He would have never forgiven himself for adding to her grief. Even then, Draco had wanted to protect her, shield her from the truth.

_Why sadden his mother further, when there was no hope that it would change anything at all?_

Both the Malfoy and the Black family honoured the old ways, meaning that their marriages were intended to last a lifetime. The bond between husband and wife sealed in blood and magic, their vows taken underneath the full moon, not meant to be broken by earthly powers or fleeting whims, in a few cases not even death himself. Perhaps, once upon a fucking long time, the ceremony might have been intended as a demonstration of true love and equal devotion, the vows designed to unite not conquer, but if that had really been the true meaning it had been lost, warped and abused over the centuries. Family magic caging the unfortunate witches, chaining them to their husbands indefinitely, his death their only hope for salvation.

So even if Narcissa would have been prepared to face the societal stigma surrounding divorce or separation in wizarding society, which simply was not done under ANY circumstances, her marriage bonds would have remained intact. Ties which placed her firmly within Lucius sphere of influence, not to mention that, archaic as it was, no member of the Wizengamot would have allowed the divorced witch to take her son, the sole heir to the Malfoy name and fortune, away from his father. Questionable disciplinary methods did not change the fact that a mother's rights would never supersede the Head of the most influential family in Britain and the Black name, otherwise a guarantee for protection against political overreach, had lost what weight it might have still possessed with the unlawful imprisonment of Sirius Black.

_Salazar, that's yet another subject I'll have to think about..._

Therefore Draco had kept quiet, never seeking out his mother's comfort, even if he had longed for it desperately. A decision he had never regretted, all the more so, after he had learned how little of her outward indifference and coldness had been by her own volition.

Severus, who had seen a lot in his godson's memories, had thankfully respected Draco's silence, probably seeing the futility of pressing the subject and although the potions master had never dared to challenge Lucius openly, a fools errand in any feasible scenario... He had found a good many ways to make Draco's life considerably more pleasant. Keeping the focus of his potions tutoring in first and second year on various healing potions, tinctures and salves, as well as copious amounts of dreamless sleep and demonstrably looking the other way when Draco slipped a generous amount of vials into his robes whenever they had finished a new batch.

_Such a Slytherin way to show your support..._

Oblivious to Draco's train of thought, said Head of Slytherin House huffed stubbornly, before wisely relenting, his reluctance evident in the slight tightening of his jawline. "Fine. Be that as it may, Draco, I'll hardly deny that I considered my apparent ineptitude to cure the only son... The only son your mother had so trustingly placed under my protection... a severe insult to my professional pride, if nothing else. And as much of a stimulating academical challenge as your case might have provided, I have to admit that I'd have vastly preferred not to fear for your life while studying it. "

_Do wonders never cease?_

To say that Draco was astounded by his godfather's candour would have been a major understatement, since the older wizard tended to hide even the tiniest shred of an underhanded compliment beneath a thick layer of drily stated insults and sarcastic condescension. In such a light the sentence 'I'd have vastly preferred not to fear for your life...' was probably as close to a teary admission of fatherly affection and unconditional love as Severus would ever allow himself to come. A realisation that made Draco's throat constrict painfully, as he searched for the appropriate response to such an unexpected, albeit, not unwelcome confession.

"I..." Before he could stumble through yet another emotionally charged exchange like bloody Hufflepuff fool, Salazar knows there've been way too many of those recently, Draco's reply was thankfully cut short by the rather sudden arrival of Dobby, who popped into the room balancing a ceramic bowl of creamy pumpkin soup on his spindly arms. Whiffs of thick steam slowly rising into the air above it, swirling invitingly and filling the air with its homey scent. Somehow the thoughtful gesture caused Draco's already too softened heart to swell with renewed fondness for the brave house elf.

_Circe forbid._

He had never ever, not even at the utmost height of his pureblooded conceitedness, treated Dobby with straight out cruelty like Lucius had so casually done throughout the years. Growing up side by side would not really have allowed for anything of the sort. However, Draco had certainly not gone out of his way to be overly friendly to him. Not after the older wizard had caught a six year old Draco, surreptitiously sneaking the always hungry-looking elf some food from the dinner table.

_We both paid dearly enough for that..._

Following the aforementioned incident and the subsequent punishment, their relationship which had almost bordered on a sort of unconventional friendship had cooled down considerably. Lucius had made it quite the point to single out Dobby for unpleasant tasks, daunting Draco with his inability to protect the poor sod, even going as far as reinstating the outdated custom of treating the house elf as a whipping boy for his son's more minor transgressions.

_Not that I'd ever noticed a decrease in my own punishments. Lucius just wanted an excuse to torment the elf who had 'tricked' his son and heir into showing something as unmalfoyesque as a moment of compassion._

Apologetic glances and helpless shame could only do so much to mend the damage done by that kind of sadistic pleasure and over time the acidic quality of festering bitterness had burnt away most of their former closeness. Leaving Dobby to suffer at Lucius mercy and Draco immersing himself more and more in the role that had been assigned to him, hoping and miserably failing to repress the sharp tendrils of guilt that shot through him, whenever he met the large accusing eyes of his former playmate.

Nonetheless, in spite of their severely fractured connection: In Draco's hour of need the tiny elf had heeded his desperate call to safe the Golden Trio. Had sacrificed his own life to 'steal' Granger right out of Bellatrix' evil clutches. Granted, Dobby's partiality towards the famous threesome might have played a major role in his agreement to accept the favour Draco had begged of him, but the house elf's initial appearance had been prompted by nothing except the blonde wizard's anguished whispers. Uttered in a moment of heartfelt devastation, fuelled by Granger's bone-shattering cries of agony, where the razor-thin line between ingenuity and insanity had gotten blurred beyond recognition.

_Why is it that I've hardly processed the fact that I've mysteriously moved through the barriers of space and time and yet I can't seem to escape the constant confrontation with the ghosts of my past?_

"My favourite. Thank you Dobby, but that really wasn't necessary."

Upon hearing Draco's half-praise paired with honest gratitude, Dobby's already saucer-like eyes widened to a truly scary degree, reminiscent of a demiguise caught in the spotlight, causing Draco to send a warning look in his direction. If the house elf chose this moment to burst into tears, he would only draw attention to Draco's drastically adjusted behaviour which had the potential to further complicate his already precarious situation.

Apparently understanding the not so hidden message in his master's demeanour, the elf only sniffled a bit, gaze dropping to the floor before he collected himself and placed the bowl on a free space on Draco's nightstand. Pride vibrated in Dobby's voice as he stated much more enthusiastically than during his earlier conversation with Draco's mother, eyes lingering quizzically on Draco's exhausted form. There was something unreadable buried beneath the layer of tentative incredulity, an emotion that the blond wizard simply could not quite place, but which felt important nonetheless. "Dobby is very glad young master Draco is not so very ill anymore. Dobby's soup wills help young master get better."

Draco nodded at him gratefully, quite pleased with the encouraging effect his words had had on the house elf. Perhaps there was something worth salvaging of their relationship... he owed Dobby the courtesy anyway and besides, if he played his cards right the house elf would make an invaluable ally considering the restrictions Draco's young age would undoubtedly impose on his free movement. Smuggling a wink in the elf's direction, he ordered with more authority than his eleven year old voice should have afforded. "You've done well, Dobby. Go and give Effie a hand, will you? I'm sure she'll have something for you."

_Cookies most like, if I know anything about Effie..._

The house elf quaked out a little squeak. "Master Draco is too kind to Dobby. He wills do as master Draco says." After yet another sniffle Dobby snipped his fingers. Disapparating to the kitchens and thereby leaving Draco alone with his mother and Snape, who were both looking a little put out by the overly friendly exchange.

_This is going to be interesting..._

"Draco, are you quite alright, mon cheri?" Draco had to bite back the teasing grin that threatened to overtake his features at the sound of the thinly veiled alarm in his mother's voice. He had to hand it to her, to them really, because Severus merely hid his bewilderment just a tad better than Narcissa, Draco definitely could understand where the two of them were coming from. There was little point in denying that he had tended to act like an entitled, snobbish brat way beyond the age of eleven. Completely unbefitting behaviour that this adult and battle hardened version of Draco would, in any case, find rather difficult to replicate.

What little had remained of his childish pettiness and conceited arrogance at the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts, which, just to recap, had already seen him finally admitting to himself that he had fallen for a not so disgusting 'Mudblood' and being confronted with the fact that his so called father did not possess a single decent bone in his body, had been amongst the very first victims of the Second Wizarding War. It was hard to look at other people in disgust when you were forced to cower in front of an insane lunatic. Draco might still wield his signature arrogance and the air of entitlement he had perfected as the 'Prince of Slytherin', if the specific situation required it. However, when he did so nowadays, it was always with a specific goal in mind and not because he truly believed someone to be beneath him.

_Well, of course there are some exceptions to that rule: Greyback and Bellatrix for one, because they are both absolutely vile and despicable creatures. The things they used to do to their victims, the pain they liked to inflict, their animalistic thrive on cries and cruelty didn't really serve to endear them to any decent human being. The Dark Lord's a given, magical prowess notwithstanding, just like Lucius the sadistic bastard. And Weaselbee, since the pervert dared to betray Granger in such a disgusting manner. But good grief, who in his right mind wouldn't consider himself above that lot..._

_Not far, mind you._

_When all's said and done it's rather likely that I don't rank all too high above them, Death Eater protege, loathsome, evil, little cockroach and all the other unflattering nicknames Granger's thrown at my head... However, there ARE certain lines I've not yet crossed and I very much intend to keep it that way!_

So, no! Blending in or not, behaving like a contemptuous prat simply would not do... Draco had doled out enough unjustified insults to last him a lifetime, he certainly did not see the need to add any more to that statistic. Nonetheless he was not blind to the fact that treating house elves with some basic human decency went far beyond a slight increase in politeness and maturity. Such a sudden shift in his treatment of the servants of Malfoy Manor would undoubtedly be more than enough to cause his mother concern, especially after he had just barely survived a mysterious fever. His godfather hadn't commented yet, but Draco could see the curiosity burning in those sharp black orbs of his.

Much more progressively inclined pureblood families than the most ancient and noble House of Malfoy treated their house elves with little more than indifference at the best of times. He himself had only begun to revisit his, admittedly until that time shamefully unreflected, opinion on the topic when he had caught a few of the occasional passionate outburst on Granger's part during fourth year.

And despite the fact that he did not fully agree with the unwavering radicalism of her stance, after all house elves and wizards were bound by ancient magic and a loss of that connection often ended in madness or depression on the elf's part, Draco could not help himself but agree with the general sentiment the Gryffindor witch had expressed with her S.P.E.W. Initiative. The mistreatment of those poor creatures was truly abhorrent, Dobby being a prime, but by far not the only example.

Rolling his eyes dramatically, he stated. "Relax mother, it isn't as if I proposed something utterly outlandish, like let's say throwing a gala for the promotion of elfish welfare. Dobby was very considerate to prepare my favourite soup, so I showed my appreciation. It's only polite after all."

"Your father..." his mother began.

"...would probably skin me alive, for fraternising with servant scum. No surprise there... But he isn't here, is he?" When Draco saw her wince at his throwaway comment, he added with a rueful expression. Dark humour was a habit he would have a hard time, trying to reign in. "Trust me Maman, I would never be careless enough to act like this in L... father's presence. I value self preservation just as much as any other Slytherin."

Two sets of dark eyes were examining him intently, but Draco didn't show any outward discomfort. Opting instead to begin to eat some spoonfuls of soup, savouring its heavenly creamy aroma mixed with the soothing warmth of ginger roots.

_Merlin, I've missed this. No one makes pumpkin soup quite like Dobby._

Unperturbed by their questioning gazes he returned to his contemplations whether or not a deviation from the original timeline would be possible if not even desirable. Time magic was messy business and until he had done some thorough research on time travelling and its consequences, or at least until he had had the time to discuss the subject matter with at one of his time travelling companions, it probably would not be wise to upset the major plot points of the time line.

There were so many contributing factors it made his head squirm and minimal changes that occurred at the beginning could have unforeseen ripple effects later on. Some events would most likely never occur in the way they had, even if Draco would have to consult a few books on time travel before he could be entirely sure. For now it was infinitely easier to focus on the more immediate future, and even there existed the distinct possibility that the fever had caused unforeseeable consequences.

_Better keep to the script..._

Like for example that Lucius spent almost the whole summer prior to Draco's first year at Hogwarts on their properties in France.

Well, admittedly, that wasn't really one of the major plot points, rather a damn convenient one. Nonetheless, it couldn't hurt to shake things up a bit, at least some minor stuff. Because for Merlin's sake, why would anybody go back in time, if you were doomed to do nothing but helplessly repeat your past mistakes?

_There is so much potential. So many lives that could be saved. A war that could be won. The outcome can't be guaranteed, but if we have only the slightest chance to forge a better future than the one we have so narrowly escaped, why shouldn't we do our very best to make it happen? It's not as if it could get any worse..._

This time it was Severus, who broke the silence with a dry chuckle. "Utterly outlandish, indeed. I must admit you've managed to surprise me Draco, a feat that is most definitely not easily accomplished. It will be a pleasure to become your head of house when you get sorted into Slytherin this year. A welcome addition to the usual dimwits I have the misfortune of teaching."

"Oh uncle Sev, you don't know the half of it." A mischievous glint entered Draco's eyes at the though of the many Slytherin secrets he had managed to discover during his previous tenure at the wizarding school. "Anyway, before we got slightly off topic, I was just about to explain that mother sent Dobby after you because I wanted to express my gratitude in person. Maman has told me that all this time you've not only tried your best to save my life, but also supported her during a very trying time. For that alone, I'll always be in your debt."

Draco's voice was filled with sincerity, layers of meaning interwoven into this one singular thank you. He had never had the opportunity to thank his godfather properly for everything the wizard had done in order to help him and even if this was a comparably poor substitute, seeing as Severus had no idea about the true extent of Draco's thankfulness, it still relieved some of the guilt he had been carrying with him.

_Thank you for trying to help me during sixth year. For killing Dumbledore. For teaching me the basics of Occlumency, before aunt Bella or Lucius could get hold off my deepest secrets. For caring. For telling me that you were proud of me. For pain potions and Dreamless Sleep. Thank you for treating my wounds after Nagini ripped my chest apart. For encouraging me in potions. For protecting me. For protecting my mother, when I could not._

Visibly uncomfortable at Draco's heartfelt declaration, the potions master waved the words away. "Now, I would be a very poor godfather if I'd abandon you in an hour of need, would I not?" Leaning forward in his chair, the stern features cold and removed, despite the intent seriousness permeating from his voice. "Tell me, Draco, do you recall anything unusual happening before the onset of the fever? Something that might, perhaps, serve to explain, how you acquired this particular injury?" He pointed to the scar on Draco's forearm, the red line standing out angrily against the otherwise pale skin. "A harmless jinx? A hex, a spell, an attack? Has someone tried to hurt you?"

Draco was a bit taken aback by the simmering anger radiating from Snape's words, until he caught on to the implications. It was the year 1991. Not 2000. Half a decade before the horrors of war once again consumed to the Wizarding World and while his mother and Snape had both lived through the First Wizarding War, they hadn't yet experienced anything close to the war torn dystopia, that had been Draco's reality for the last four years. Curse marks and incurable scars had once been a rarity, even if the thought seemed almost laughable now, considering how blemished his body had been towards the end.

_The Dark Mark. Nagini's bite marks carved into his chest. A network of fine lines stretching over his torso, where Potter's Sectumsempra had slashed him open. Quite a few more whose origin he simply couldn't remember. The star shaped dents from repeated Crucios spreading across the expanse of his back. A slash on his upper calf from an unknown order fighter..._

No, scar tissue had quickly lost its novelty for Draco, but now after a decade of peace and half a decade before the outbreak of the Second Wizarding War the sight of a scar that couldn't be erased by magical means, would be disturbing for any wizard. Not to forget that the position of such a scar, on the arm of a Death Eater's son and another Death Eater's godson, could only serve to complicate matters. If Draco had to wager a guess he would bet half his inheritance on the fact that Severus probably assumed someone had cursed Draco in an belated attempt of retaliation against the Malfoy family. The general public, however, would not be as generous in their conclusions, most likely interpreting the mark as a sign that he was Lucius son in more than just appearance.

_Never mind, that such a move equalled political suicide in the current anti Slytherin climate, but rationality's never been a deterrent against the rumour mill._

Draco set his soup plate aside, before rubbing over the scar somewhat self-consciously. Giving people the impression that he was trying to emulate Lucius was definitely the very last thing he wanted. Then he furrowed his eyebrows, acting as if he tried very hard to recall the events of that day, following it up with a regretful shake of his head. "No, I can't remember anything out of the ordinary. The memories are still a bit blurry, but I think my arm began to hurt at the same time as the fever started, which was somewhen during the night."

Meeting Snape's inquiring eyes Draco conjured up ordinary images of that day, culminating in his descend into feverish delirium. When he had reached that point, he made sure to let some of the burning agony he had felt during the ceremony where he had received the Dark mark, bleed into his mind. Thusly weaving a believable net of memories which had never existed in their projected form. It was very delicate work, on the one hand he had to shield his mind from his godfather, lest he would discover the time travel which was certainly not advisable.

_I trust him! But he's far too intertwined with the headmaster and the Dark Lord. Such a fundamental secret should be shared with nothing but the utmost caution..._

On the other hand Draco couldn't let the Severus discover his adeptness at Occlumency. He would have been hard pressed to explain how an eleven year old kid, regardless of how naturally inclined towards the mind arts he was, would have been able to hold off a master Legilimens without any prior training.

Obviously dissatisfied by Draco's answer, his godfather broke the connection and exchanged a meaningful look with Narcissa, who had pretended to busy herself in the meantime. Rearranging the assortment of potion vials on the nightstand. Relief flooded Draco's senses, because unhappy as Severus looked at his lack of discoveries in his godson's memories, he didn't seem to suspect that Draco was keeping any secrets from him. His pride soared. It was undoubtedly satisfying to best his former mentor at his own game.

"That is unfortunate." Snape stated slowly. "I expect you to inform either your mother or myself if more of your memories return. Even the most minuscule detail might help us to determine the cause for your unexpected illness. Now onto far more important matters." With a flick of his wand Snape procured a letter from the depths of his robes. The Hogwarts crest in green ink unmistakably on the front. "This has arrived while you were uh... indisposed. I thought you might like to open it yourself."

Draco took the offered letter gingerly. Receiving his very first Hogwarts letter had been a momentous occasion in the original time line, but nowhere near the level of emotion he felt now. Over the years Hogwarts had become more than a school, more than a place of exceptional magic. It had been his home. Where he had been able to escape the increasing darkness that ruled the Manor. Where he had learned to tell the difference between true friends and sycophants. Where he had fallen in love. And he had seen the castle crumble, the once proud school reduced to rubble. Had even partaken in its destruction. A new wave of nostalgia and longing cursed through him as he gently pried the letter open, perusing its contents under the watchful eye of his mother and Snape.

To: Draco Alexander Malfoy

2nd Floor, Westwing of Malfoy Manor

Whiltshire

England

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you, that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

School begins on 1 Septermber. We await your owl, no later than 31 July.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

After Draco had also examined the supplies list, which was almost ridiculously short compared to the seemingly endless assembly of items they would need in the years to come, he folded the letter away and turned to his mother, who proposed with a gentle smile that did not fully reach her grey eyes.

"Assuming you feel well enough, Draco, I thought we three might head to Diagon Alley in a few days in order to collect your school supplies. The first year at Hogwarts is always something truly magical. Maybe we could even find a pet for you, I know you've always wanted a cat of your own."

"A cat?" Draco could not keep the utter disbelief out of his voice. It was the truth, he had always wanted one, especially during his first three or so years at school, but Lucius had always opposed the idea claiming a cat to be too common for a Malfoy and Draco's mother had not dared to go against his wishes. Almost dying most definitely had its perks, even if the thought of Lucius' reaction already caused him to inwardly cringe in discomfort.

_It could be worth it..._

"That's very generous Maman. Have you already written to the deputy headmistress, or do you want me to pen a reply?"

"I thought I might write it together with the message you asked me to send to your father, later this afternoon." Then she asked. "So you wouldn't be opposed to Severus company on our trip to Diagon Alley? We both thought it might be... wise, considering the circumstances and I've already discussed it with your father."

_Merlin, they think I need protection. They are afraid, whoever has given me the scar and the fever, will most likely try to do it again. As if would need it..._

Acting unaware of their hidden motives, Draco asked innocently. "Why would I ever object to uncle Sev's company? I haven't seen him for ages, or at least it feels that way. Besides, at Hogwarts it probably won't be the same... There he'll be first and foremost my Potions Professor and Head of House, not a friend to the family and my godfather. Otherwise the rest of the school might accuse him of favouritism, which presumably won't be too far off from the truth, but there's no need to confirm it, is there?"

Turning his head towards Severus he added. "You are staying at the Manor for a little while, at the very least until I am fully recovered, aren't you?" Barely registering Snape's confirming nod, Draco continued a calculating flicker entering his eyes. "Well, then maybe we could spent some time in the potions lab together. Perhaps revise the first year potions, and in case you are adequately satisfied with my abilities, dabble in the second year curriculum? Of course only, if that is agreeable to you. I'd like to be prepared for our tutoring..."

_Free access to Severus potions supplies won't hurt and I can spend some long overdue quality time with him. Calibrating my approach to the problem of my nearing Occlumency tutoring..._

The potions master's raised one of his sharp eyebrows, giving a delightful impression of mild disbelief. "Your enthusiasm is certainly commendable, Draco, if a little unexpected. There are only a few short weeks until the beginning of the school year and I was under the distinct impression you would vastly prefer to spend them on your new broom, rather than in a stuffy potions lab."

Draco had to suppress a snort at that. True, in the original time line he had been majorly put out by the fact, that first years weren't allowed to own a broom and had therefore spent almost the whole summer of 1991 on his Nimbus 2000. An open wound which only hurt more after Potter had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team without even trying to. However, ten years of added life experience had certainly shifted his priorities towards more important issues. He still liked flying as much as the next bloke, and Quidditch was a passion not easily subdued, but it simply couldn't compare to spending time with people whose loss he had mourned for the past three years. ANd of course, as any true Slytherin, he had one or two additional motives to ask his godfather for tutoring.

Since Draco had no intentions to reveal his real reasoning to the potions master, he stated with a small shrug. "I am not stupid enough to think that Maman, will allow me to go anywhere near a broom for a long time." He turned to his mother. "And I wouldn't want to give you any cause for more concern. Not after what you had to endure over the last two weeks. Maybe once I'm fully recovered, we could negotiate a few hours here and there, but my main focus will be firmly on my studies."

_Make it more believable that I know much more about magic than I should..._

His mother regarded him with concerned shock, before she leaned forward. Raising her palm to his forehead and trying to feel his temperature again. "Are you sure your fever is not coming back, Draco? It's undeniably very considerate of you, to take my sensitivities into account when you're the one who's been gravely ill. However, I must admit it's slightly astonishing how mature you have suddenly become. You are worrying me quite a bit, sweetheart."

_Sweetheart?!_

"Some experiences can be helpful to put things into perspective. Besides, L... father has made it quite clear that he expects me to excel at my studies this year. I'd hate to be disappoint his expectations." Again Draco stumbled over the word 'father' and he was fairly certain that his godfather had noticed the slip up this time. It was just so bloody difficult to break years of habit, when his hatred for the man had only grown exponentionally with time.

Severus inclined his head, his voice as even as ever, while Narcissa stiffened noticeably at the casual reference to her husband. Gaze falling to the ground. "If it is truly your wish, then I see nothing to speak against a few hours of potion making. I need to replenish my stock and you've shown enough adeptness at the craft, not to try my patience all too much."

_Some things never change._

Thought Draco drily, even as he felt a warm feeling of pride settling in his chest, at the words of his godfather. Considering Severus aversion to compliments, it was high praise indeed.

Nevertheless he also felt the exhaustion slowly catching up with him. His body was still battling the aftereffects of the fever, and the short Occlumency exercise certainly hadn't helped matters. Not to mention that Draco had had to figure out the time travel theory, while conversing with people who should for all intents and purposes be dead. The whole situation was a bit too much to process all at once.

Because of that, Draco made sure to conclude his next statement with a demonstrative yawn, drawing the attention of his mother with the gesture. "Thanks uncle Sev. I am so incredibly honoured not to classify as a complete dunderhead."

"You should rest some more, Draco. Take some of the potions Severus will provide for you, won't you Severus?" And to Draco's immense surprise, his mother leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, before she floated out of the room, her emerald dressrobes flowing freely around her. "Sleep well, Draco."

_She must have been terribly scared for my life, to allow herself such an emotional gesture!_

"Goodnight, Maman."

For a short moment Severus actually stared after Draco's mother, his dark eyes alight with what the blonde assumed to be stunned indignation. Then he turned back to Draco, producing two more vials from the depths of his cloak. Holding up the sunshine coloured potion, the potions master explained.

"Here is a strengthening potion. Take half of it now, and the other half when you wake up. Otherwise it would probably take weeks until you are well enough for the trip to Diagon Alley. And this..." He held up the second potion, with a very familiar dark blue shade. "...is dreamless sleep. It is more of a precautionary measure: You had a lot of nightmares and hallucinations over the last two weeks. Talked incoherently without rhyme nor reason and sleep deprivation would affect your recovery in a negative way. One small sip should suffice to keep any nightmares at bay."

_Gods, it's been a long time since a small sip has been enough for me._

But Draco simply nodded his assent and his godfather turned around, following after Draco's mother. Nightmares had become a quite common occurrence since the Astronomy Tower and the punishment that followed, which was why he had turned towards the potion in order to keep functioning. At first only to alleviate the aftereffects of his steadily worsening insomnia and later to steal an occasional night of rest without having to worry about dreams that were filled with death, blood and screams.

A problem that only intensified after Bellatrix' torture session with Hermione and the Battle, as his mother's and Severus' accusing faces had been featured with an unnerving frequency. Nonetheless Draco had been careful to avoid dependency to the point of addiction, however, after a few years of building up his tolerance, a small sip seemed a childish amount, barely enough to even buy him an hour's rest at most.

_But that was before. Now you are just an eleven year old kid, not someone who regularly brews his own dreamless sleep, in order to catch a night's rest._

"Thank you uncle Sev. For everything."

Severus stilled in the doorway. "You are most welcome, Draco."

Once his godfather had left, Draco took a few deep breaths, before allowing his mind to wander. It was terribly overwhelming. To know the fate of so many people. To know the outcome of a war that had yet to happen. There were so many aspects to consider. So many questions that demanded answers, before he could properly decide his next steps. He needed to talk to Blaise as soon as he could concentrate properly, they had a war to win and a new world to gain. A monstrous task and a much heavier responsibility to lift, but Draco could feel a flicker hope igniting in him...

_At least I have some time to figure everything out._

However, there was only one thing Draco wanted to do, before he finally gave in to his exhaustion. He closed his eyes and tried to get a feeling for the magic flowing in and out of his body. Then he sent his senses towards his forearm were the Dark Lord had marked him as his servant, searching for a trace of the deep darkness that had once been burned into his flesh. Any clue that he might still be a slave bound to a crazy, narcissistic mass murderer. However there was nothing. Nothing. No lingering darkness. No remnants of the crawling sensation when the sickening imprint of tainted magic twisted beneath the skin. He was free.

_Free!_

Politics aside, who cared about a scar, ugly as it was? Certainly not Draco. As long as he would never again have to feel the Dark Lord's presence burning through his flesh... He fiddled with the caps of the potion vials, careful to follow Severus instructions regarding the dosage, the blanket of sleep enveloping him, despite the words of his fever dream chanting in his head.

A castle lays broken, its spirit destroyed.

Proud houses torn by an ancient divide

Friends bound by destiny, but split by fate,

Equally gifted with future's bleak weight

Change demands balance, a dance across knives

For peace can never reign where hatred thrives.

Insult earns violence! The words ring true,

Crimson stained footsteps, lost history's due!

Time's straight path reversed by forgotten tears,

The puppets break free from their puppeteers

The lost maiden paid the ultimate prize

bonds sealed in love let memories rise

Loyalty and courage come from within

Serpents bound to obey the words of their king

Stars born from fire must helm the fight

United, at last, with the haunted man's bride

Two scheming masters consumed by their war

Death and destruction will never be far!


	8. New Perspectives Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco tries to contact Blaise. Narcissa and Severus accompany him to Diagon Alley, where Draco gets chosen by a mysterious ‘new’ wand, while the next chapter will see Draco meeting a former adversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually I contemplated not splitting this chapter at all, but I need some time to plan out the Hogwarts express chapter.  
> Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter, as well as the many kudos... I dearly appreciate all your support and feedback!
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter.

_29th of July 1991_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Whiltshire_

_England_

_Blaise,_

_If you are reading this right now, mate, then you've obviously managed to crack the magical encryptions I've placed on this document. Mother told me to officially welcome you in Britain as 'the prospective heir to the Zabini might and fortune' and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to contact you without arousing any suspicion._

_I must admit that I am not quite sure if I should congratulate you on joining me in our shared past. For one it's certainly an improvement to the hellhole we've left behind and I would colour myself lucky to have you to share this burden with me. Nevertheless I am still very much unsure what to make of our current predicament._

_Should I rejoice to be given the opportunity of righting the many wrongs that have been committed? The innumerable mistakes I've made? Relieved that the monstrosities I've witnessed, hopefully won't come to pass?_

_Or should I feel cheated? Enraged about the heavy responsibility that has been placed upon our shoulders without any prior consultation of our opinions on the matter. Just one more move on the chessboard, another destiny that's been forced upon us like it has happened so many times before. Our own wishes and aspirations be damned!_

_Disappointed that I've been relegated to the prison of my youth, when I've fought so hard to escape it? Salazar, one of my very last actions in the 'old world' was killing Lucius once and for all, or at least that's what I thought until unwittingly awaking in my childhood bed. To suffer being forced into a never-ending play of pretend and skilful make-believe, when I've felt the promise of finally gaining some semblance of freedom lurking just beneath my fingertips?_

_Am I a monster for even contemplating such things as my obviously misplaced resentments when the fates have seen fit to reunite me with my family? When I've just talked with my mother and uncle Sev in a manner that was as heartfelt as we'll ever have the chance to conduct ourselves?_

_What if..._

_Salazar, questioning the path of time like that makes me feel like a bloody Hufflepuff fool, but gods I haven't had the opportunity of bouncing ideas back and forth since basically forever._

_Before I delve any further into our past, present and future, I feel the need to offer you a last opportunity to rescind any further responsibilities and solely focus on your personal and in extension I suppose your families wellbeing. And Salazar don't act all offended now, Blaise... Just... Promise me to think about it, mate... We've both seen the more unsavoury consequences of war, the heavy prize it demands from victims and fighters alike. Harsh reality stripped from all grand embellishments and heroic delusions. Lies and deceit. Blood and screams. And unlike my own situation there are no strong bonds connecting you to either side... Neither attachments nor any deep-rooted responsibilities which might compel you into action._

_I swear I'd be the very last person to hold your decision against you, Blaise..._

_After all, my own reasons for remaining in Britain, for not grabbing my loved ones and escaping with them to the States, are almost entirely selfish in nature. Severus and my mother might have been swayed by my recount of the future, always provided I wouldn't create a dangerous paradox by doing so. They would hopefully heed my warnings and take the necessary precautions, perhaps even flee to the States. But Luna? She'll want to stay and fight. No matter how convincing my arguments might turn out to be and loosing her after everything that's happened is simply not an option._

_Besides, there are so many people I have hurt, tortured or killed in the original timeline and even if bravery way too often takes the liking of foolishness I can't bring myself to take the sensible way out. There are some responsibilities even a reversion of time itself can't absolve you from and if I have learned one thing about the resistance against the Dark Lord, then that they are in dire need of some Slytherin cunning._

_However, if you want to join us, because let's be realistic if Luna's readiness to fight is nigh incontestable then Granger's decision can be regarded as a foregone conclusion, I'd be honoured to know you at our, at my side. The last few years have been rather lonely I'll admit, despite the fact that I've never been the most sociable person and I've missed having you as a friend. Annoying Hufflepuff tendencies included._

_Anyway, regardless of your decision in regards to your role in the upcoming war, I dare say that you'll find parts the following information pertinent to your situation, so be my guest and read on... Unfortunately there are some facts I can't share unless we've worked on your Occlumency, even if the time travelling is definitely the most dangerous secret of them all. Just imagine what either party would do in order to gain that kind of information... The Dark Lord would sacrifice just about anything to ensure that his vision of the future comes to pass and we would be handing him a failsafe plan to achieve just that. Dumbledore's fixation with the greater good is just marginally better._

_By now I've done a fair bit of reading on the subject of time magic, obscure as the topic remains to this day, there have been a few more or less trustworthy publications on specific aspects such as the underlying mechanism of time turners. Furthermore I've discovered a vast variety of theorems and broad explanations whose authors are of rather questionable repute and who as far as I can tell have never proven any of their postulates by replicable experiments._

_Yeah yeah... I know that's the very moment where you call me a swot, but are secretly relieved that it isn't you who has to do all the research..._

_However, most so called 'experts' agree on a number of universally accepted truths, as close to facts as we can hope to get at this point in time, regarding the kind of time travel that we've experienced or 'soul transfer' as they insist on calling it. Not overly creative but I suppose it conveys the general principle. Most of those rules explained in no uncertain terms, why the necessary powers are so rarely harnessed in any comparable fashion to the kind of ritual my cousin had apparently chosen to perform._

_For one, the highly concentrated magical field Luna must have generated, requires an yet unheard of environment of not satisfyingly defined properties, making the ritual that transferred our souls experimental at best. Secondly a transfer is keyed in with the life force of a wizard or witch and therefore requires the temporary deaths of the respective subjects. Thirdly and in my opinion much more unsettling than the first two combined: Most 'authorities' agree that such a severe subversion of the laws of magic can only transpire with the permission of Time itself. An infamously unpredictable deity, whose attention we've undoubtedly managed to attract and her help is never under no conceivable circumstances granted without a befitting sacrifice. What such a sacrifice might entail is anyones guess..._

_Let's just hope that part is pure speculation!_

_All that talk about time travel actually brings me to another topic. Continuity. My very first instinct was not to interfere with the timeline, you know a la 'Bad things happen to wizards who play with time' style. Better not to play with powers way beyond your control and all that drivel. However, then I remembered how majorly fucked up our future is inevitably going to be, if we don't choose to make some major, and that's a bloody large 'Major', changes to the ruddy timeline, which prompted a paradigm shift of sorts. So, as you might have been able to tell by now, at the moment I feel rather inclined to vote for a much more invasive approach, to save as many innocent lives as humanly possible._

_Salazar, this whole thing is not exactly made easier by the fact that we are fucking eleven..._

_Eleven, Blaise... I'm like only this high, it's bloody ridiculous..._

_Provided we don't dumb down our knowledge considerably you, Granger and I, are going to be the most insanely overpowered first years Hogwarts has ever seen. And I'm very much including Dumbledore and the Dark Lord on that list, perhaps even Merlin himself._

_On that note... I've already tried to test my magical core strength, seeing as we begin schooling around our second magical growth spurt. Knowing our limits might turn out to be favourable and I'll admit I was concerned that our magical core might have been reduced to our eleven year old capacity. Unfortunately, defence related spells were out of the question, since performing powerful offensive and defensive magic within the Manor wards would have amounted to rather suspicious behaviour on my part and I already have a fucking large curse scar, right were the Dark Mark used to be. Drawing even more unwanted attention to myself wouldn't be desirable at this point in time._

_Instead I settled on nonhuman Transfiguration, occupying my spare time with the ten empty potion vials on my nightstand turning them into metal, flowers, humming birds, and later on even a group of cats. To be perfectly honest I didn't expect perfect results, since I am still recuperating from the two weeks of fever that accompanied my transfer in this timeline. However, I dare say it's a fair assumption that our magical core has been part of the soul transfer... The bloody birds have never looked better and I'd even claim that I didn't experience much of a magical drain, even though it was silent and wandless spellwork. My magic seemed almost content to be used in such a manner. Might turn out to be nothing, but perhaps you could give it a try and tell me about the results?_

_You are actually the first of our merry quartette who I've been trying to reach this way. Luna is unfortunately indisposed at the moment, due to something as simple as her being a Lovegood. They uh... to put it nicely... have always preferred to keep to themselves, you know? There were some rumours, that their ancestral seat constantly travels between the fay world and ours. Therefore 'unreachable' just might be THE understatement of the century when it comes to the whereabouts of my cousin... Even the Dark Lord had initial difficulties to track Xhenophilius down and he would have never succeeded if the bastard hadn't thought of kidnapping Luna while she was still living at Hogwarts. Basically forcing the poor sod out of hiding and ordering him to destroy their century old connection and escape route._

_So yeah, the witch who sent us back in time and might just know more than any of us about the strange magic she called upon to achieve the transfer won't be available for questioning until our next year at Hogwarts._

_I know, I know... We are royally fucked!_

_However, on the bright side or at least what I'd call marginally less unfortunate, if you are currently reading this, we've got a pretty good chance that Granger is here as well and if I had to select an ally amongst all those holier than though Gryffindor dorks it would undoubtedly have been her. Well, at least if you disregard her blatantly obvious distaste for me, but I suppose you can't have everything._

_Salazar, judging by our last altercation I dare say the Gryffindor Princess would probably prefer it very much, if I had spontaneously combusted on my way here, but then I guess, the thought that one of the Dark Lord's spineless sycophants has followed her through space and time isn't exactly the most reassuring thought to wake up to._

_All in all I've decided not to contact Granger, you know, give her some time to adjust to this new reality of ours before we accost her in the Hogwarts Express and present her with a fully developed battle plan for the coming year. There are some uh... conversations... that might just work better in person and as you might have noticed the divide between us, me and Granger that is, won't be bridged without a major demonstration of goodwill... Earning her trust is going to be a bloody nightmare, if it is even possible..._

_Talking face to face might have to wait until Hogwarts I'm afraid. Mother and Severus are watching my very move. Merlin, I'm lucky that they allow me to go to Diagon Alley in two days. I mean theoretically speaking, arranging a meeting would be somewhat manageable since I spent a good portion of my involuntary bedrest corrupting Dobby into a mutually beneficial partnership, but such a favour would certainly use most of the 'goodwill', if one could describe it like that, which I've gained over the last week. As much as I'd wish to discuss matters with you in person I wouldn't want to jeopardise the progress I've made so far by taking advantage of Dobby's generosity._

_However, at least we've now established a relatively secure route of communication. One that Lucius and even a younger version of you won't be able to crack. Salazar knows, I might be a selfish bastard but burdening an actual eleven year old kid with knowledge about the dystopia we've somehow managed to escape would have been low even by my fucked up ethical standards. Not to mention the fact that I've no idea about the possible consequences of sharing such substantial knowledge about the future with someone who isn't already informed._

_School start is barely more than a month away and I'm sure we'll have more than enough time to incorporate Granger's insight AFTER we've returned to Hogwarts. Entirely possible that I meet Potter in Diagon Alley. It happened in the original timeline, but I've yet to determine how to conduct myself if it actually comes to pass. Its not as if Potter's prophecy has turned out to be of any consequence whatsoever, at least beyond fuelling Dumbledores and the Dark Lords delusions._

_Your younger but presumably still the same unbearably sarcastic best mate,_

_Draco Malfoy_

///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\

Absentmindedly Draco raked his finger through his hair, a nervous habit he had picked up during his last two years at school. This time around he hadn't slicked it back with tons of gel, opting instead for a slightly more relaxed look, something his mother had undoubtedly noticed, but wisely chosen not to comment on. And anyway, despite the lack of hair products Draco's appearance was of course immaculate, as if anything less would do for a Malfoy in a public setting, so she really would not have the grounds to issue a reprimand.

Diagon Alley was bustling with energy, as the three of them made their way through the shops, collecting Draco's school supplies. Exasperated parents who struggled to pry their children away from the Quidditch store mixed with haggles of teenagers and the grating voices of vendors who were praising their goods. Thankfully Severus' dark, bat-like silhouette, stood out easily amongst the masses, his imposing presence ensuring that they were moving through the milling crowd relatively unperturbed.

Not that it was not somewhat satisfying to see the street restored to, or to be more precise in its former glory: For one reason or the other, most of the original shops had not lasted through the Second Wizarding War, leaving their spots vacated or even overtaken by their dark arts rendition. Cursed items. Forbidden books. Obscure voodoo shops. Drug dens selling the illusion of an hours respite. The whole place had reeked of death and decay, attracting the clientele, that was currently restricted to areas like Knockturn Alley. Death Eater's mingling with werewolves, vampires and other dark creatures, who had been swayed to the Dark side by the promise of fresh hunting grounds, blood and 'willing' victims.

_Their willingness being up to debate... In fact describing them as such is a shameless euphemism for unsuspecting muggles and broken prisoners of war, but then most of the Dark Lord's allies weren't exactly picky regarding their playthings._

However, as much as Draco enjoyed the bright vibrancy and the cheery atmosphere for the chance of a new beginning they represented. The reality of so many people flooding through a narrow alleyway, movements constricted to a very limited space, inevitably resulted in a whole lot of unpredictable body contact. People colliding with each other. Pushing and shoving. Not exactly ideal considering that nowadays even the lightest touch was enough to set Draco on edge. His battle-hardened instincts basically screaming at him to throw up his magical defences, hand snapping to a wand that was not where it should have been.

Only adding to his uneasiness, was the ambient cacophony of background noises: the constant shouts way too similar to the sounds of a battlefield, to allow him any semblance of comfort.

_Ouch! Merlin this thing's ridiculous, I'm gonna end up throwing a mean hex at the next best wizard who's just too stupid to watch further than the pointed end of his alcohol-reddened nose._

Nonetheless Draco did his very best to appear cheerful, plastering a slight smile on his face and chattering animatedly with his mother and Severus on their way from shop to shop. The pretend attitude wore on his nerves, but it seemed to assuage his companion's worries, which was more than enough reason to continue the fatiguing charade. As opposed to the last time, where he had left it to his mother to select the majority of his supplies, head filled with Quidditch and the fear of raising Lucius ire if he didn't manage to get sorted into Slytherin, he amused his mother and Severus by insisting to order every single item by himself. Adding his own requests for specific charm works and customised adjustments. Not that his mother didn't have excellent taste, but he had seven years worth of experience to rely on and hindsight was definitely twenty/twenty in such matters.

_Given the choice between being overly prepared or the opposite extreme, I'd much rather choose the first option..._

Their first stop was Salana Silverheart's Magical Storage Solutions, where Draco ordered his school trunk and book bag, while his mother used the opportunity to search for a new pocket greenhouse to cultivate herbs in her chambers. Herbology and horticulture being amongst her duties as the Lady of Malfoy Manor, their lavish parks and magical gardens a source of great envy amongst high society witches.

Both of his purchases were manufactured from matching dark green dragon hide and held together by silver buckles, their insides covered with a layer of smooth acromantula silk. A high-end combination of materials, which would make them impervious to flames and protect them from a certain degree of spell damage as well as any physical wear and tear. Further ornaments were not needed in Draco's opinion since he had come to value quality and functionality much higher than outward appearances, however, when his mother insisted on imprinting the Malfoy crest on the dark material he relented quite quickly. In return he negotiated full control over the content of the school trunk, much to the quiet astonishment of his godfather, who regarded their playful exchange with watchful eyes.

_Maman, though, doesn't seem to disapprove of my choices... Even if she looked somewhat puzzled given the unusual dimensions of my design..._

The spacious interior of his school trunk consisted of seven separate compartments, the necessary space created with a quite substantial i.e. expensive, amount of extension charms. Adding a small library compartment for his schoolbooks, a decent sized potions cabinet with an adjacent greenhouse space for cultivating fresh ingredients, a pocket office, a generous pet area and a storage room for his broom to the obligatory magical wardrobe.

To properly ensure his privacy, he asked the young witch in the shop to add voice sensitive password protection when she performed the necessary weightlessness charms. Fake Mad Eye Moody's aka Barthemius Crouch Jr.'s appeal for constant vigilance had been wise counsel, even more so for any student who got sorted into Slytherin house. A principle, which sounded more pertinent than ever, given that Draco was a time travelling Slytherin with plans to thwart the Dark Lord's successful victory over the Light side.

From Silverheart's they moved on to Scribbulus Writing Equipments, purchasing a generous stack of fine refilling parchment, inks in all imaginable varieties and a beautifully crafted five part set of writing quills. Three of which were made from Golden Eagle feathers. One of the precious materials, which Draco remembered to be reasonably responsive to additional charmwork. He fully intended to sacrifice a few hours of his time at the Manor to make the quills responsive to his voice and even more importantly charm them to be self writing, so they could take notes for him in class. Academic ambition or not: There was simply no acceptable reason to listen to Binn's monotone monologues for a second time.

_At least not if I can help it in any way... His lectures would sell extraordinarily as a nonaddictive substitute for Dreamless sleep._

In Wiseacre's shop for Wizarding Equipment Draco purchased an assortment of crystal phials, an astronomy set with inlayed silver elements and extensive moon and star charts for Astronomy, before the small group moved on to Flourish and Blott's, where Draco spend the better part of an hour scouring through the isles, and considering his book choices, since the first year textbooks would hardly pose a challenge.

With that thought in mind he selected the collectors edition of the Standard Book of Spells, combining the volumes of Grade 1 to 7 and the other textbooks from his supply list. Furthermore a range of advanced books on Defence against the Dark Arts... By Salazar, Quirrel and Lockhart's lessons had been more of a joke and fourth and fifth year had not shown any improvement in that department.

To think that a shabby werewolf had been the very best professor they had ever had, perhaps, with the notable exception of Severus, but Draco had not really had much opportunity to focus on his studies during his sixth year at the school.

_Rather weird if you look at it like that. One would assume that Dumbledore would accept nothing but the very best defence teachers for his darling Potter. After all, if the old coot's theories had turned out to be correct, Potter'd have been the one, who would have had to fight the Dark Lord in a few short years._

After some contemplation Draco added some reading material on Advanced Transfiguration, Charms and Potions as well as the introductory books for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. A little bit of revising would not hurt matters any and sometimes it was more convenient to have the books at hand instead of hoping to find the right edition in the depths of the library of Hogwarts. Divination and Care of Magical Creatures would have to wait for their respective years. They really did not rate all that high on Draco's list of priorities, even if he could recall being quite enamoured with 'Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander', solely based on the in-depth analysis of the various dragon breeds.

When he went to the counter for the last time, Severus and Draco's mother regarded the rather large pile of books, the blonde wizard had amassed with equally surprised expressions. Seeing as he was the first of the two to recover from their shocks, Severus stated drily. "Well, at the very least that explains why you insisted on all those weightlessness charms. A few more books, Draco, and you could open your own library."

"Guide to Advanced Transfiguration." Ignoring the mild chuckles Severus comment had elicited from her son, Draco's mother held up one of the books to read the title, her voice sounding mildly amused, before she cautioned him with a little upturn of her lips. "Draco, darling, that's a book for N.E.W.T students, maybe the occasional overzealous O.W.L. Candidate. Are you sure you want to buy it, before you even had your first transfiguration class? One could certainly call it a tad ambitious."

_Well, yes! I guess... That's one of the few books that will pose a real challenge and I'll need all the knowledge I can get if we want to have a chance! Besides, there's a well-researched section on the hardships and trials of animagus training and I'd very much like to see for myself if I can achieve the transformation. Never got around on trying that in the original timeline._

"Quite sure, Maman." Draco smirked smugly and counted out the Galleons for the clerk, asking him with a waving gesture to send the books to Malfoy Manor as soon as possible, before he turned back to the two adults and followed them out of the bookshop. Carefully weighing possible explanations against each other, Draco settled on telling them a tentative half truth. "I can see why my choices in books might appear bewildering to you, Maman. But father always talks about my responsibilities as scion of House Malfoy. Our blood traits, the family honour, my duties as his heir etcetera... To do our family proud, leave my mark in history. Learn the art of politics and how to execute a masterful scheme worthy of my name. But I am not only a Malfoy, am I mother?"

His mother's features softened slightly, a tiny smile lurking around the edges of her mouth, which broadened when he continued. "I am also the last legitimate male descendant of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Transfiguration and duelling skills are my birth right just as much as the Malfoy talents! And if the life-altering events of the last few weeks..." _or rather of the last ten years_ "... have taught me anything, then that life is short and can easily change at any given moment. And when it does, I want to be prepared to the very best of my abilities. Embracing my heritage and applying myself academically sounded like a good way to start."

_Baby steps..._

Draco's arguments must have gotten the message across, because when they arrived at the apothecary, neither his godfather nor his mother protested against the substantial list of ingredients he wanted to acquire. In fact Severus even requested the addition of a variety of quite rare potion's ingredients, like a few precious drops of acromantula venom, which made Draco stare at the potions master in wonder. His godfather wasn't known for his overindulgence and to purchase such rare and expensive items for an eleven year old seemed surprisingly excessive even by Malfoy standards. However, Severus volunteered no further information, so Draco let it be for the time being, not wanting to press his luck.

_Uncle Sev is way too perceptive for my comfort, and I've still not decided how to handle the Occlumency training he'll undoubtedly insist on._

On their way to Ollivander's, they stopped at Potage's Cauldron shop, where Draco chose six cauldrons, two of each, pewter, brass and copper, gold being , one in the standard two size, the other a size five for bigger batches. Glass sticks for stirring, an ironwood knife board, a knife with a steel blade which had been hardened by the fire of a Chinese Fireball, a silver spoon and mortars in a variety of sizes and materials completed his rudimentary potions kit. In combination with his surprisingly well stocked potion supplies, Draco would be able to fill up his potions cabinet in no time.

_Veritaserum. Polyjuice. Dreamless Sleep. Calming Draught. Skelegrow. Draught of the Living Dead. Cooling Draught. Numbing Potion. If I begin working on them as soon as we return to the Manor, the healing potions should be ready for use before Lucius' return from France._

Finally they had reached Ollivander's wandshop, a sight which sent a notable thrill of excitement through Draco's body. Anticipation spreading at the prospect of finally getting his hands on a suitable wand. Wandless magic or not, hardly any wizard felt complete without a wand in their hand and Draco, used to a world where he had learned to defend himself within a moments notice, had felt the absence of his wand like a chronic ache in his fingertips.

The old copper-bell tinkled when they stepped inside, entering the almost empty room and Draco let his gaze roam over the sparse interior. Eyes wandering over the stacked piles of wand boxes lining the shop, before they finally settled on the spindly form of Mr. Ollivander, who was coming from the back of the shop.

At the sight of the old wand maker Draco felt a vague sense of guilt crawling in his stomach, the unpleasant assault making him shift uncomfortably on his feet. After all in the other timeline, his family and in extension Draco himself had held the wand maker hostage in their home, until Dobby had saved him, Luna and the Golden Trio.

Ollivander's bright eyes gleamed eerily in the dimmed-down light of the shop, as he greeted them with a polite bow. "Lady Malfoy, what an honour to have you visit me in my humble abode. Ten and a half inches, elm and phoenix feather. A wonderful wand for Transfiguration and highly sophisticated, do I have it right?" His gaze swayed to the potion master at Narcissa's side. "And... ah Severus what a pleasant surprise. It's been way too long. If I recall it correctly yours was nine and a quarter inches, Hawthorn and phoenix feather, brittle. A quite powerful wand for duels, is it not?"

_Phoenix feather and Hawthorne? Sweet Salazar, Severus's wand has been made from the same wood as mine? Well, that's certainly an interesting tidbit of information..._

Filling the information away for later Draco looked at his godfather, noticing how Severus hand twitched at the quite intimate greeting the old wandmaker had so inappropriately directed at him. However, instead of letting his irritation show the potion master simply nodded in agreement, his voice flat, as he stated. "A long time has passed since I had reason to use it in such a context, Mr. Ollivander, but there was certainly never a reason to complain."

From the corner of his periphery Draco saw his mother brushing her fingers against Severus forearm in a soothing gesture, while she took a step forward. Her features were frozen, completely unreadable, which was never a good sign in Draco's experience, but before she had the chance to say anything reproachful Draco himself stepped out of the shadows. Extending his hand to the wand maker he introduced himself, by inclining his head in the customary offering of respect. "Merry meet Mr. Ollivander. Draco Malfoy, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Sir."

The unsettlingly big eyes remained on Draco and the blond wizard had to suppress a slight shudder. To be perfectly honest he had always found the wand maker to be kind of creepy. Not in a terrifying way that exuded the more unhinged Death Eaters... Rather in acknowledgment of the slightly manic aura of a mad genius, which often surrounded those who tended to loose themselves entirely in their obsessions. "Merry meet Mr. Malfoy. The pleasure is all mine. An aspiring Hogwarts student, I presume?"

"I'll begin my schooling in September, Sir."

Not loosing any time after Draco's confirmation, the wand maker twirled his wand, producing a long tape measure with silver markings. "Then we should get on with it, don't you think? Getting the first wand is a momentous occasion in the life of any witch or wizard. Which is your wand arm?"

_Third... but who cares? Does it even count when it has technically never happened?_

Without hesitation Draco extended his right arm while the wand maker took his magical measurements. In the meantime the older wizard explained to Draco in an excited tone, visibly warming to the idea of outfitting another young wizard with a suitable wand. "There is a wide ranging variety of wand woods to choose from, each different regarding its magical propensity and the character traits it favours in its master. However, you should never forget that in truth it is the wand that chooses the wizard, Mr. Malfoy, and not the other way around. From the very first touch, wizard and wand form a bond. Connecting them, influencing them both and allowing them to grow together. A wands allegiance once obtained is a most precious gift, indeed."

Ollivander turned towards the high shelves full of wands, his thin fingers trailing over the labels, while he continued his eager elaboration. "Despite the multitude of wand woods, there are only three magical materials I consider strong enough to form the core of my wands. Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic and is rarely turned towards the Darkest of Arts." Yeah mine wasn't all too thrilled when I was doing the Dark Lord's bidding... "Dragon heartstrings favour powerful and flamboyant spells, even if they tend to make for wands, which can be somewhat temperamental. Prone to impulsivity and rashness and therefore in need of a strong hand. Finally, the rarest core type are Phoenix feathers which possess the greatest range of magic, even if their allegiance is amongst the most difficult to earn."

Finally the wand maker came to a stop, pulling one of the boxes out of the shelf and presenting the twisted wand inside to Draco, who reached obediently for the beige piece of wood. "Try this one, willow and phoenix feather, nine inches, rather springy." Doing his best to suppress a snort Draco gave the wand a little swish, not at all surprised when it practically snapped out of his hand. Neither his Hawthorne wand, nor the Walnut wand he had won in the Battle of Hogwarts had been anything close to being considered flexible. On the contrary both had been on the harder, much more solid part of the spectrum.

Completely unperturbed by the abysmal result, Ollivander swirled back to his shelves, quietly muttering to himself while his gaze travelled across the stacks. "No that obviously won't do. Let's see." He stilled over two other boxes. "Ah, maybe one of those two is the one for you. Fir and unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches. Strong and steady." He offered Draco the first one, but the wand refused to even produce the faintest bit of magic.

"Or this one? Vine and dragon heartstring, ten and three quarter inches. Solid." Something about that third wand looked almost familiar, as if Draco had seen it before, but he could not quite connect it to a specific memory. The wand did not work for him anyway. Grumbling a bit Mr. Ollivander snatched the wand out of Draco's hands, selecting another four boxes, amongst them Draco's old Hawthorn wand as well as a Walnut wand that roughly resembled his old one.

However, not one of them achieved the desired results. Solely based on his handling the best one of the lot had probably been the Hawthorne wand, but Draco could not defuse the nagging suspicion that their hint of compatibility was more due to his own wistful nostalgia, rather than the fact that the two of them might have made a good match in the end. Actually, the longer the blond wizard thought about it the more sense it made to him that neither one of his former wands had produced desirable results.

Not that Draco had extensive knowledge concerning the complicate intricacies of modern wand lore, or ancient one for that matter, but from the few tidbits he could recall from his studies in the Malfoy library, the suitability of the matches usually depended heavily on the personality portrayed by the respective witch or wizard.

Hawthorne wood was inherently attracted to inner turmoil and emotional conflict, which was reflected in its dichotic ability to produce exceptionally strong curses and powerful healing spells alike. A more than fitting wand in the original timeline where Draco had just begun to question Lucius' harsh personality, while still yearning to gain the man's approval and had later faced the reality, that everything he had been raised to believe was nothing but a worthless pile of dragon dung.

Granted the Walnut wand he had carried later on, had suited him just fine once he had won over the wand's allegiance. Nonetheless the force of his spells had never been able to fully compare to the results his old Hawthorne wand had yielded. They had always felt a bit off. Just another reason why Draco had honed his skills in wandless magic. In his mind the decreased quality had been a more than sufficient indicator that they'd never been a true match for each other.

_Getting the same wand for a second time would have been awfully repetitive, anyway._

After another long line of unsuccessful attempts, the various discarded wand boxes mindlessly scattered across the floor had already begun to form a pile of impressive heights, Mr. Ollivander heaved a heavy sigh and asked with raised eyebrows. "A quite tricky customer, aren't you Mr. Malfoy? It's been quite some time since I had such difficulties to find _the One_ for a customer of mine."

Fixating Draco more intensely with those unnaturally bright eyes, the wand maker added thoughtfully. "Ah... Draco was it? Now that I think about it, there might have been some sort of uh... miscalculation on my part Mr. Malfoy. Oh yes, I see it all too clearly now... There is far more to you than meets the eye, magical potential. Darkness and power but paired with unusual restraint. Hmm, I wonder if... It just might..." The older wizard's voice trailed off as he hurried away, quickly disappearing in the back off the dusty shop, leaving the rather stunned blonde alone in the company of his mother and Severus. Mulling over the strange ramblings of the old wandmaker.

Evidently mistaking Draco's quiet contemplation for annoyance, his mother reached for his shoulder, giving it a calming squeeze and whispering reassuringly. "Don't worry Draco, I am sure we'll find a very fine wand for you. Occasionally it just takes a bit longer. I remember, when your aunt Bella got her wand, it took her almost an hour to find her proper match. Our parents were terribly afraid she might set the whole wand shop on fire." A faraway look entered Narcissa's eyes, before she shook her head, as if to chase the unwelcome thoughts away.

Being compared to his crazy aunt, the future Dark Lady if Draco did not succeed in his quest to change the future for the better. sent icy chills all over his skin. Granted the similarity was not really incriminating, an oddity at most, but still nothing that he would have chosen to know, if he had been given the choice. However, one look at the sad nostalgia that lingered in his mother's eyes, was enough to give him some pause.

_Merlin and Morgana! Of course... Maman must fear the loneliness. I'm leaving for Hogwarts in less than a month and Severus will return there even earlier. She's going to be alone in that gigantic house, trapped with nothing but her gardens, the horses and Lucius for company. That's why she talks about her sister._

_And not about the crazed lunatic that's currently incarcerated in high-security Azkaban, most likely not even about the convinced Death Eater that served the Dark Lord during the first Wizarding War. Not about the witch she has become... But about her eleven year old sister, who almost lit up a wand shop out of misplaced frustration!_

Inwardly exhaling a small sigh, because honestly, all logical explanations aside this was still Bellatrix Lestrange they were talking about, and he really hated the woman with every damn fibre of his being, Draco looked up to his mother and told her with a cautious smile. "I am sure that was a sight to behold, Maman. You miss her sometimes, don't you? The girl aunt Bella used to be?"

Narcissa Malfoy's dark 'Black' eyes widened in surprise, obviously taken off guard by the direct questioning, but she recovered her countenance quickly. Waving the question away, while Severus watched the two of them with a concerned look, apparently too stunned by Draco's atypical range of emotional sensitivity to be of any help. "Sometimes, I suppose, mon cheri. Sisterhood is a bond not easily severed.' The shadows beneath her eyes darkened further. 'But never mind me Draco, I'm just being ridiculous.'

Shaking his head decidedly, Draco argued, his too high voice straining to convey his earnestness while his mind procured the image of a serene smile, platin locks and silver-blue eyes. "There's nothing stupid about missing your sister, Maman. No matter what happens. In your eyes she'll always be the little girl that threatened to set a wand shop on fire, because she didn't get her wand right away. You love her. You want her back. And you probably mourn for the woman she might have become if the fates had chosen a different path for her. That's anything but ridiculous, mother. That's what makes us human! Just... uh... promise me that you won't ever forget that Azkaban changes people and not for the better, there's no way to tell how much of that little girl still remains after years of imprisonment."

_Merlin, since when do I care so much for other people's emotional state? I sound like a Merlin forsaken Hufflepuff._

A strangled sob escaped his mother's throat, water rising in her dark grey eyes, but she quickly regained her composure, when Mr. Ollivander momentarily interrupted his constant rummaging in the back of the shop. Sensing an opportunity to steer the conversation in a less emotionally intense direction, Draco grabbed his mother's hand, leading her carefully to the single chair in the corner of the room.

"Forgive me, Maman I shouldn't have pressed the subject. On another note, I think we are all in agreement, that the virtue of patience is not one of my best developed character traits." His self deprecating statement was rewarded with a minuscule smile that grazed his mother's lips, who had settled on the chair, gracefully nipping on a glass of water Severus had procured for her. "So it is quite needless to say that I would have vastly preferred a less lengthy process, however perhaps, there's a grain of truth in the saying that good things come to those who wait. I, for my part, am not particularly keen on risking an ill fitting wand, simply because I rushed through the selection process."

Eventually it was his godfather, who let out a small chuckle, fingers resting calmingly on the back of Narcissa's tense shoulders. "Merlin, Draco, I almost don't recognise you any more. Only three short weeks ago you threw a monumental fit because your mother told you to wait another hour until your Quidditch practice and now you are logically analysing the possible ramifications of your impatience and advising your mother on matters of emotion. Such a monumental change is a bit difficult to process."

_So much for my intentions to be subtle about it._

"Don't fret, uncle Sev. I am sure my brattish behaviour is just temporarily indisposed. It's sure to make a return once you'll least expect it." Grinning at Severus stunned expression, Draco turned towards Mr. Ollivander, whose quiet footsteps had announced his presence. Eyebrows raised maybe a touch too haughtily at the wand maker, after all the older wizard had left them waiting for quite some time. However then his gaze fell on the rather delicate looking wand the man held reverently in his hands.

Before Draco had the opportunity to examine the wand further, Mr. Ollivander spoke up, his voice taking on a weird quality, that Draco found difficult to classify. Awe and reverence, calculation and longing merged into one. "This wand here, Mr. Malfoy, has been waiting for the right match for a very long time. So long in fact that I had already abandoned all hope, to see it bonded in my lifetime. Now, however, I can't help but wonder if it might not belong to you, Draco." Significantly lingering on Draco's given name, the wandmaker offered the wand to Draco, all the while rattling down the most basic properties of the thin wand. "Japanese cherry and dragon heart string, eleven and three quarter inches, unyielding. A combination of remarkable power."

For a moment Draco didn't move, eyes raking over the dark cherry wood, admiring the fine reddish hues and the curled design which was completed by spirals of minuscule runes burned thinly into the wood. Larger versions coated the handle, which ended in a finely carved dragon head, its fangs closed around a polished blueish-green sphere glowing in the low light.

_It's perfection... The unfortunate Gryffindor colour scheme aside, of course..._

Tentatively Draco reached for the handle, feeling a warm prickling of magic before his fingertips had even brushed the handle and when his hand tightened around the grip, blue sparks began to burst from the tip like a star shower. Dancing flames that kept floating in the air around them instead of vanishing instantly. A strong feeling of comfort and belonging spread through his body, far surpassing anything that Draco had experienced when he had bonded with his previous two wands, which left him to feel exhilarated and slightly disturbed at the same time.

_Sweet Salazar. This almost feels like coming home..._

It was Ollivander's too close voice that broke into Draco's mind, who was still very much struggling to recover from the rather overwhelming spike of his magic he had just experienced. "Remarkable, truly remarkable Mr. Malfoy. I hadn't dared to actually hope..." The wand maker trailed off, his big eyes darting excitedly between Draco and the cherry wand, causing Draco's grip to tighten almost imperceptibly.

_No need to get all possessive, you idiot!_

Forcing his hand to relax, Draco watched the wandmaker's visible fascination with interest. Ollivander's preoccupation with this particular wand struck him as rather odd. Or at least odder than the old man acted in general. For sure, many wandmakers felt a connection to the products of their craft and this one was most definitely an extraordinary piece of magic. Unusual to say the least, even for his untrained eye. In fact Draco had never seen a wand quite like this before, especially not at Mr. Ollivander's shop, who manufactured wands of the highest quality but preferred to keep their appearance simple and straightforward.

Thankfully, Severus spoke up, posing the exact question that had occupied Draco's mind from the very first moment he had laid eyes on the intricate twists and turns of the wood. Flowing extravagance. "One of yours, Mr. Ollivander? I must admit that I've never seen anything quite like it before and as a potions master of Hogwarts I've had a chance to see my fair share of wands over the years."

To the general surprise of the Malfoy's and their surly companion, the old wand maker barked out a laugh, his raspy voice ricocheting in the small room, before he shook his head eyes shining brightly with amusement. "No, oh by Merlin's beard, no... I've reached a respectable age, no doubt, and practiced the art of wandmaking for a lifetime, but this wand... This wand far surpasses me in years. As a matter of fact, I am quite convinced, it was already ancient when it came in the possession of my family and that was many a century ago. Almost a family heirloom, if you will."

_Well, that explains quite a bit._

Face turning pensive, Ollivander continued, the lines on his forehead crinkling slightly as he elaborated. "The knowledge how to meld runes and stone magic with the forces that are required for wand making has been lost for almost a millennium, to be more precise since shortly after your ancestors Mr. Malfoy, crossed the channel in the entourage of William the Conqueror. So it is a fair assumption that this wand predates the Norman Invasion, by a few hundreds of years and yet this particular wand has never known a master until this day that much I can tell you." The wand maker gestured down on Draco's hand, which was still clenched tightly around the dark red wood. "Obviously, it has been waiting for you Mr. Malfoy."

Awe filled Draco as he regarded the cherry wand, his palm caressing the smooth wood. The thought that such a powerful wand had chosen him of all people... It was so mind boggling, that he almost missed his mother's question. Things like that happened to Potter and his Golden sidekicks not former -or was it future?- Death Eaters. "Are you quite sure that the wand is safe for use? Not that I'd question your expertise, bust as you've said the general knowledge about rune and especially stone magic is hardly what I'd call extensive."

Ollivander's eyebrows shot up. "Uh, of course you'd ask that as any concerned mother would... But I can assure you on my magic, Lady Malfoy that no harm shall befall the bearer of this wand at least not by its own volition. All the runes are protective in nature and stones are generally thought to channel energy, nothing that could turn out to be to your son's detriment. Very much the opposite, in fact. In my professional opinion Mr Malfoy couldn't wish for a better wand. The craftsmanship, even if it isn't my own, is exquisite: How the Japanese cherry found its way to Britain is a mystery to me, but regardless it makes for an excellent and highly resilient wand wood. Highly revered in its homeland. And the core is formed by the heartstring of an opal-eye dragon. Mysterious powers surround those creatures, just like this wand is a bit of a mystery.

Narcissa and Severus both looked understandably overwhelmed by Ollivander's speech and maybe a tad sceptical of his somewhat questionable assessment. Instinctually Draco pressed the wand possessively against his chest. He was rather inclined to believe the old wand maker. It was as good as impossible to dismiss the magical potency of the wand, when Draco could feel his blood sing, his heartbeat in tune with the melodic thrumming magic that vibrated from the wand.

_Mine._

_Is this how Dumbledore felt uh... for fuck's sake, this time confusion is getting rather annoying... Feels when he wields the Elder wand?_

Before the two adults had the chance to voice any further concerns, Draco stated with an air of finality, which seemed decidedly out of place in his eleven year old demeanour, but so what... He was growing tired of playing at being a child, incapable of making reasonable choices, when he obviously knew what he was doing. "The wand feels right, Maman. There's nothing dangerous about it, I promise. It simply belongs to me. Of course always assuming that Mr Ollivander is even willing to part with such a historic piece."

He turned to the wandmaker and if the old wizard had been a Slytherin he would have recognised the hidden invitation to negotiate, however, Ollivander merely nodded his head enthusiastically. "I've already told you... The wand chooses the wizard Mr. Malfoy. Once an initial bond has been formed it isn't advisable to keep wand and wizard apart. One never knows how the respective wand might react to such an involuntary separation. I don't very much fancy dealing with occasional outbursts of casual destruction in my wand shop."

Draco's mother, who had observed the scene quietly until now, met Severus eyes, before she let out a small, long-suffering sigh. Calculatingly assessing the wandmaker with thinly veiled scepticism. "Alright then. Severus would you please accompany Draco to Madam Malkins', while Mr. Ollivander and I discuss the adequate payment for Draco's wand? Family treasure that it appears to be?" Turning to the wand maker she added, suddenly giving him a winning smile. "Maybe, you could add a wand holster made of dragon hide to the bill, Mr. Ollivander? Salazar knows, it seems fitting enough, don't you think?"


	9. New Perspectives Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco meets a Harry Potter who is completely different from the prat he remembers, before our two favourite Malfoys and Severus visit the pet shop, where Draco finds his new, sickeningly adorable companion. A longawaited letter arrives at the Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies,
> 
> An extralong chapter 10k+ just in time for Christmas celebrations. Thanks for your continued support. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I am not quite sure how much I'll be able to write over the holidays, but my next chapter will most likely come somewhere around New Year's eve and feature the reunion of Draco, Blaise and Hermione. Hopefully with less violent results than the last time around.
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter!

After taking their leave Severus and Draco stepped out onto the narrow cobblestone street, once again. Navigating the hectic hustling and bustling with ease and directing their steps towards Madame Malkins' Robes for All Occasions. Neither of them spoke all that much on the way. Draco was still reeling from the surprising turn their trip to the wandmaker had taken, acutely aware of the wand holster strapped against his left forearm, the cherry wand pulsing hotly against his skin, perfectly in tune with his blood and Severus had never been one for too many words to begin with.

They had almost made it to the popular robe shop before the potions master stilled his movement apruptly and said, all the while fixating Draco with a stern expression. "You should take great care with your new wand, Draco. To wield such a unique piece is an honour few wizards can claim for themselves. Be sure to value it accordingly. Power is oftentimes a burden not a prize."

With an earnest nod Draco replied, the solemn reminder resonating with him. "Of course, uncle Sev. You can trust me on this!"

Then the eleven year old smirked, his eyes dancing with more mirth than they had held in a very long time. "You know it might take a while to do the robe fitting, I won't hold it against you if you go and do something more ...uh productive in the meantime. Mr. Potage seemed quite interested in a friendly dispute about the different variations of the Wolfsbane Potion, when we bought my potions supplies, earlier."

Severus raised his eyebrows, the hint of a sly smile tugging on his lips. "If I didn't know you any better, Draco, I'd think you were growing tired of my company. Besides, your mother surely won't appreciate it if she discovered that I left her precious son unsupervised."

_No, I just don't really want you anywhere near Potter, if he actually shows up at Madame Malkins. You two together in a small room are even more of a disaster waiting to happen, than Potter and myself. And that's saying something._

Feigning an insulted reaction, Draco put his palm over his heart and replied. "How could you ever think that, uncle Sev? You are my most favourite godfather; I thought you already knew as much. It was only a well intentioned suggestion, designed to save you from a tedious session of robe fitting. Salazar knows, even mother isn't all too fond of the experience and she adores shopping like no one else, a predisposition which neither of us two can claim for ourselves. What do you think, why she sent you to accompany me, while she stayed behind settling the price for my wand with Mister Ollivander?"

_Perhaps, at least... Even if I think she also wants to learn as much as possible about my new cherry wand without a curious audience listening in._

"Sometimes it's deceptively easy to forget that Narcissa is just as much of a Slytherin, as I am." The potion master sounded as if he had yet to decide if he should be annoyed or amused at that discovery. Although, there was an undeniable warmness lingering beneath his put out expression, while he regarded the two adjacent shops thoughtfully. In a fluid motion he deposited a small pouch with heavy Galleons in Draco's hands. "That should be enough, I think, at least if you don't go overboard with the adjustments, Draco. Though, I believe a few temperature adapting charms should be well within the realm of possibilities. If in doubt you can always ask Madame Malkins to put it on the next bill of Cissa's inevitable shopping spree."

"Thanks, uncle Sev. Just do me a favour, will you?" Draco grinned mischievously, while he teased his godfather. "At least, you know,  _try_  to conceal your annoyance, when Mr. Potage doesn't understand how the added moonstones influence the equilibrium of powdered silver and wolfsbane flowers and thereby enable you to achieve more potent results. Or that the additions enhances the reactivity of dittany and therefore adds to the volatile nature of the brewing process, which is why it is very rarely used beyond a select circle of potion masters. With all due respect, I'd wager, understanding the underlying principles takes more insight and skill than a hobby potioneer like Mr. Potage is likely to have."

"And how would you, not even a first year student, know about the different permutations of the wolfsbane potion? That's knowledge, which far surpasses even N.E.W.T. level requirements, Draco. We've barely finished the first year curriculum in our private sessions." His godfather brows knitted together in a mix that spoke of surprise and confusion as well as a small sliver of fatherly pride, causing Draco's heart to soar in his chest, even if the praise was only partially deserved.

Not cowed by Severus' hostile demeanour, he shrugged easily, stating with a laugh. "Merlin, uncle Sev, theoretical knowledge is not that difficult to gain when you have one of the most comprehensive libraries in Wizarding Britain at your disposal. Just tell me if my prediction was correct, when I have made it through the robe fitting, without dying from boredom." With those words Draco sidestepped the speechless potions master and stepped into the robe shop.

_Merlin, I think I might go insane if I have to spend the next years of my life like this: Pretending not to have a sufficient grasp of magic, downplaying my knowledge and abilities. I can't explain everything away with the Malfoy library, either. Most purebloods have vast collections of ancient books and none of my housemates would have ever dreamed of reading up on the wolfsbane potion. Never mind its less common variations..._

_However, on a more positive note, surprising mother and Severus with my changed behaviour has proven to be rather entertaining so far. Uncle Sev's face just now, was the very definition of priceless._

As soon as the door had closed behind him, a very enthusiastic Madame Malkins hustled over, procuring yet another magical measuring tape and simultaneously pulling Draco along, further towards one of the small elevated pedestals she used for the robe fitting. Obviously not noticing uncomfortable the stiffness her gesture had sent spreading through the blonde's body. "Hogwarts, dear?"

Draco, who had a hard time to suppress a notable flinch at the unexpected touch, grit his teeth and gave the shopkeeper witch one of his most charming smiles. "Yes, Madame Malkins. I'll be leaving for my first year, come September." He extended his hand, waiting for her to shake it before he continued with the required formal introduction. Usually it would have been expected of him to kiss her knuckles, but he was eleven at least in body, the gesture would just end up embarrassing both of them. Impeccable manners or not. Some gallantries just were not worth observing. "Merry meet, Madame. Draco Malfoy, a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

_Or technically reacquaintance._

The witch looked positively enchanted, looking down at him indulgently, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly as she cooed. "Oh my, such delightful manners. You pureblood children know how to conduct yourself, don't you? Merry meet, Draco Malfoy."

Bowing slightly, Draco said. "My mother, Lady Malfoy, has asked me to extend her well wishes as well; unfortunately she was held up at Mr. Ollivander's wand shop. Otherwise I know for a fact that she would have gladly taken the time to admire your newest collection." Of course Narcissa had said no such thing, it probably had not even crossed her mind, but since the Lady of Malfoy Manor was a regular and well-known customer of the robe shop, it was only polite to acknowledge the fact thusly.

"Oh, how wonderful. I've just finished a new set of dress robes that would accentuate her figure perfectly. The Black women all have such a regal stature." Madame Malkins gestured towards a set of midnight blue robes, small pointed silver stars littering it like stars splayed across the night sky. Constellations marked out in strands of silver, lighting up and disappearing with the changing light. Admittedly the perfect dress robes for any witch who belonged to the most ancient and noble House of Black with their longstanding tradition of dedicating the name of their firstborns and often most of their other children to the stars.

Draco nodded faintly. Madame sure knew how to drive home a bargain. "They are magnificent. If it doesn't bother you too much Madame, could you put them aside until I can authorise the transaction from my own vault? It would be bad form indeed, to purchase such a wonderful gift with my mother's money, now, would it not?"

"Oh holy Helga, you are such a precious dear!" The witch cooed, visibly warming to his charm as adorable eleven year old. "I suppose you'll want the Hogwarts robe set? Summer and winter attire, as well as the required dragon hide gloves?"

"Yes. Three plain robes in black, self repairing if that's possible, the winter set, one plain, black hat and the gloves. However, there are a few additional items, I would like to order. Provided it isn't too much of an inconvenience for you, Madame." He looked at the older witch questioningly.

Obviously intrigued by the prospect of additional orders, Madame Malkins stated, with a laugh. "Oh no dear, such a polite young man, as you are, could never ever be an inconvenience for me. Just tell me what you want and I'll have the robes ready as soon as nightfall."

_Salazar, charming witches five times my age in such a fashion never stops being awfully annoying... However, a lot of my erstwhile plans depend upon cultivating a good image._

"Wonderful. In order to freshen up my wardrobe I need one black wool coat with silver elements for the winter months, and two sets of casual robes for my free time, one black, the other grey, both with Slytherin green elements and another set in dark blue also with silver elements. And a few warming charm on the wool coat certainly wouldn't come amiss. That will be all, I guess. If it is alright with you, I'll send my personal house elf over to collect the order tomorrow, Madame. Possibly, along with the dress robes for my mother."

"Most certainly. Any other charms in order to protect them from the usual wear and tear? Or fire resistance? First years tend to blow up their cauldrons in my experience."

Draco grimaced at the memory of Longbottom's and Finnegans exploding concoctions, which regularly turned their shared potion lessons into a fire hazard. Babbling, bumbling band of baboons, indeed! However, it seemed a tiny bit wasteful to pay for enhancements, knowing that he would outgrow the robes by years end. Especially since Draco could perform the necessary charms by himself, if he truly wanted to. Not that the money really mattered, but it would do him good to practice some of his charm work. Shaking his head regretfully, he said "No, I don't think that will be necessary."

Looking only slightly disappointed Madam Malkins told Draco to wait for her, whilst she went to look for the formal Hogwarts robes. She hadn't left the room for long, before a raven-haired boy stumbled through the entrance of the shop.

_Potter._

A chiming bell rang out, alerting Madame Malkins to the arrival of her new customer, while Draco couldn't help but stare at the boy in front of him in utmost disbelief. It was Potter that much was evident. He had the signature glasses, the unruly mop of jet black hair and the almost unnaturally bright green eyes, so disturbingly reminiscent of the killing curse that had not succeeded in ending his life. Nevertheless, outward characteristics and resemblances aside, there was little else that correlated with Draco's many more or less unpleasant memories of his former school rival and childhood nemesis. For one the boy in front of him was weirdly small, which Draco probably should have expected, them being eleven and all, but the change still caught him quite of guard.

_It doesn't help that he looks so awfully innocent, not filled with his usual disdain and suspicion for anything associated with me._

Grey muggle clothes that looked worn and tired, not to mention that they were obviously meant for someone thrice his size, hung formlessly on his rather thin body. Not emaciated or anything, but thin enough to attract his notice. The hideous pair of glasses had quite noticeably been broken a few times over, since they were provisorily held together by some sort of sticky tape. In stark contrast to his joyless attire, Potter's cheeks were flushed with bright excitement whilst his wide eyes were darting through the room, an amalgation of nervousness and intrigue.

_All in all, a sweet kid I suppose. Even if his choices in clothing certainly leave quite a lot to be desired._

Quickly recovering from his initial shock Draco pointed out, while making a sweeping gesture towards the back. Making Potter uncomfortable with his scrutiny would not help if he wanted to work on a future collaboration. "Madame Malkins had some business to attend in the back of the shop. I am sure she'll be here any minute."

Gratefulness flashed over the miniature Potter's face, his green eyes briefly meeting Draco's, before he lowered them timidly. Timidly! What was wrong with this boy for Merlin's sake? "Uhmh... thanks."

Taken aback by the obvious shyness, an attribute Draco had never, not in his wildest dreams thought he would ever use to describe Potter, Draco secretly pinched his arm to make sure this wasn't just a very vivid daydream. Honestly, he was quite at a loss how to react to this entirely unfamiliar, almost introverted version of the Boy Who Lived.

Boisterous.

Brash.

Brimming with self righteous confidence and explosive rage.

That was the Boy Who Lived To Annoy Him. The exact opposite of timid for Salazar's sake.

_Was he like this the last time around?_

Since Draco had not been sure that they would actually run into each other, he had not finalised his plans of how exactly he wanted this meeting to play out. Should he go for reserved cordiality or try to obtain the boy's friendship? The only thing he had every intention to avoid was reverting to his snobbish self absorbed behaviour from the original timeline, but that was more of a general effort rather than a specific attempt to win Potter's good graces.

_Besides, he looks like a lost puffskein. All wide eyes and wonder._

"You are welcome. Is this your first time visiting Diagon Alley?" Draco offered the boy a crooked halfsmile. Sweet Salazar, he felt out of his depth. Slipping into the role of the eleven year old pureblood heir was significantly aided by the fact that childlike behaviour was generally frowned upon amongst the pureblooded elite. Children were supposed to behave like miniature adults as early as possible.

His mother and Severus, while temporarily blindsided by his sudden maturity, a warworn soul trapped in a young body, would most likely come to accept the change as Draco growing into the role he had been groomed to fulfill for his entire life. Interacting with another child, Potter in particular, was, however, a completely different matter altogether. Not to mention that the Gryffindor way of acquiring new friends did not necessarily align with Draco's own experiences, whose one and only, not by his parents specifically selected friend, had been Blaise, which had been entirely the Italians doing.

_Merlin, I was quite evidently shite at this thing when I was eleven and not an adult stuck in this way too young body._

Potter shuffled his feet self consciously, shooting Draco glances as if he wanted to gauge his reaction, while he muttered as uncomprehendingly as possible. "Uh... Yeah. I've only got my Hogwarts letter yesterday. Hagrid's been taking me around. He's the groundkeeper there."

_Ah, yes... The half giant not yet turned teacher brought Potter to the Alley._

Draco certainly remembered that little fact. It had bewildered him the last time too, because as Lucius and Severus told the story, it was usually one of the professors, who acted in loco parentis for the muggleborns or in Potter's particular case students who were raised by muggles. Not to get him started on the inconsistencies of letting the boy grow up with muggles and then expect him to face the Dark Lord before he had even finished his Hogwarts education.

Draco could not help feeling kind of gobsmacked when Lucius had revealed that particular piece of information to him, raving about the indignity of letting the heir to a renowned wizarding family grow up amongst the 'dangerous and barbaric filth'. Regardless of the Potter family's firmly light-affiliated stance, they had been members of the Sacred, there were certain rights to uphold when it came to such a well-bred lineage: Traditions to follow and customs to observe.

However, now wasn't the right time to dwell on Dumbledore's elaborate web of delusions, so Draco just nodded noncommittally, before shooting Potter an encouraging look. "So you will be a first year just like me. I am Draco, by the way, Draco Malfoy." He extended his hand, but before Potter had the chance to take it, they were interrupted by Madame Malkins who trotted back into the room. A small self ironic smirk spread on Draco's face, when his thoughts flashed back to Potter's rejection on the Hogwarts express.

_Go figure. I put in an effort and he still doesn't get to the part where he shakes my hand. Looks, like it's one of those things that are not meant to happen…_

"Oh we have another one. Hogwarts, my dear, the standard robes for you?" Madame asked Potter, who simply nodded mutely in response, allowing the witch to pull him toward a second pedestal right beside Draco, her enchanted measuring tape already hovering in the air: Ready to determine the boy's measurements at a moments notice.

"Come, over here."

So far so good, had there not been something about the whole interaction that attracted Draco's attention. Perhaps it was just his own, increased hypersensitivity to unexpected touches, but there was definitely something about the skittish way Potter shrank back into himself, when Madame reached for his shoulder, which Draco could not help but find awfully reminiscent of his own behaviour.

_Which begs the question, why on bloody earth darling Potter would react like that?_

Of course there was the rather farfetched possibility that Potter was like Draco and had somehow defeated the limits of space and time when he had died in their shared timeline. Not very likely, though, since Luna's ritual, mysterious as it was, had seemed like a pretty impressive piece of magic. Nothing one could easily trigger by accident, least of all by committing suicide. Besides, there was no trace of recognition in the boy's eyes. If this had been the original Potter, he would have probably cursed Draco on sight, not acted like a blushing maiden on her wedding day.

_No. There has to be another explanation._

Using Potter's temporary preoccupation with Madame Malkins fussing, Draco gave the boy a critical once over. He was in no way, shape or form an expert on muggle clothes but Potters were downright ratty, washed out with holes and fraying cuffs, threads coming loose and buttons appeared to be missing. Nothing any self respecting muggle family would allow their eleven year old child to wear, at least if Granger's usual prim and proper garderobe was offering any indication.

_Merlin, I sound like a bloody creep..._

Were the boy's relatives poor? But surely the muggle pair would get some form of reimbursement for raising the Chosen One. Potter was the only heir to the Potter fortune, which ranked somewhere in the upper half of the Sacred 28, so money really could not be part of the issue. If James Potter had not left a will, which was in and of itself highly doubtful and against any traditional approach to the matter, Potter's grandfather would surely have left a mighty sum for any progeny born to his only son. Even great aunt Doreah had set some coin aside on Draco's behalf and she had been Potter's direct relative not Draco's.

_No, it just can't be the money. There must be something else. Something not quite right with this muggle family of his._

_Oh Circe, how could I miss that the last time?_

All those years Draco had pictured Potter's home life as the polar opposite of his own. Filled with love and laughter, warmth and comfort. He was the fucking Saviour of the wizarding world, for Salazar's sake. Granted his parents had died, but they had sacrificed their lives in order to protect him. If that was not an admittedly very selfless, decidedly Gryffindor way to show their love for Potter then Draco did not know what was.

_Lucius would never dream of doing anything of the sort! In fact I'm quite certain he'd gladly sell away my life if he was offered even the slightest chance of saving his own skin._

And not to forget, Dumbledore banked on Potter and some stupid prophecy in order to save the wizarding world, which failed spectacularly as any sensible person could have told the idiot in advance, but I digress... The toddler that had vanquished the Dark Lord. Not that Draco put much stock in something that had happened when the boy had been in his nappies, but there had been uh... were, more than enough people who would have been ready to worship the very ground the Golden Boy had walked on. Every single wizarding household in Britain would have been honoured to raise Potter alongside their own children.

To even contemplate the fact that Potter, angry, volatile and yet universally beloved Potter, might have had a less than stellar home-life felt like getting hit with a particularly nasty stinging jinx. The possibility had simply never occurred to Draco and to consider it now, after knowing the bloke for ten years, after envying and at the same time loathing Potter's entire love-filled existence, made him question years worth of animosity and prejudices. He would definitely have to revisit this theory later, if only for his own peace of mind.

_Doesn't Dumbledore keep an eye on Potter? Seems neglectful, even by the headmaster's rather uh... questionable standards._

Draco was still trying to wrap his head around the insight he had just gained, when his musing were interrupted by Potter's soft voice. "Harry." The Boy Who Lived shifted awkwardly on the spot, while Madame Malkins was once again disappearing in the back of the shop. "Harry Potter. My name, I mean."

Potter looked somewhat tense, as if he expected Draco to bounce on him at any given momet or something equally obnoxious, green eyes staring stubbornly at some invisible point right above Draco's shoulder. His right hand immediately snapping upwards and spreading his unruly locks neatly over the small patch of sundeprived skin, where Draco knew the famous lightning scar to be.

_Merlin, Potter doesn't like attention... Like not at all!_

Another preconceived notion about Potter shattered. At this rate Draco was almost inclined to believe that he had been transported to another universe, not thrown back in time. The multitude of unexpected changes made him feel like his head might explode, but at least for now, Draco kept his calm and extended his hand a second time.

_Three times are a charm or so they say. Perhaps it's going to work this time around... for once._

"Merry meet, Harry Potter. It's an honour to meet you."

His nonchalant approach seemed to pay off, when a small smile tugged at Potter's lips. Lighting up his face, as the boy accepted the offered hand and squeezed it gingerly. "Likewise, Draco." After a short pause he added, significantly more relaxed than before. "You know, you are actually the first one, who didn't get all gooey eyed when you heard my full name."

_Can't imagine why._

Smirking a bit, Draco shot Potter a sympathetic look. "Ah yes, I imagine they would, wouldn't they? I assume there were quite a lot of people badgering you with the whole 'the boy who lived' shite? Not that you don't seem nice enough, and please correct me if I'm wrong but it doesn't really look like your cup of tea... The whole attention thing I mean. "

Potter actually laughed at that, his eyes dancing with freely displayed happiness, before he ducked his head, reverting back to his initial shyness. "Well... Yeah... Guess, you could say that. Especially since I don't really understand the whole fuss. I was Harry. Just Harry, you know, nothing special, until Hagrid showed up on my doorstep and told me that I'm a wizard. And now, before I've had the slightest chance to process all of that, everybody knows my name and people stare at me in the streets. It's just a bit much to wrap my head around."

It took Draco a few seconds to puzzle out what exactly bothered him so much about Potter's offhanded statement, but as soon as he had gotten to the crux of the matter a slight scowl formed on his face.

_Merlin and Morgana, who needs enemies when he has Potter's supposed friends._

"Wait a second, P... uh... Harry!" And the world keeps spinning... "Hagrid was the first one who told you that you're a wizard? Like in you literally had no idea at all until he showed up at your doorstep today?"

Taking note of Potter's obvious discomfort, who winced at Draco's incredulous tone, he quickly back pedalled, inwardly chastising himself for his tactlessness. Alienating Potter now wouldn't help matters any, no matter how strongly incensed Draco was on his behalf.

_And I was babbling about Quidditch the last time around… No wonder Potter preferred to stay quiet._

"You know what? Never mind! Not exactly my place to ask such things." Following a sudden intuition, he asked the other boy, desperate to dispell the uneasiness, which had settled between them. "Would you want to see some magic? I've just gotten my wand at Ollivander's, so I suppose I could fix your glasses for you... Of course only if you want me to?"

Granted Draco's hopeful suggestion was not entirely selfless: The enticing prospect of finally getting to test the cherry wand, even on something as simple as a Reparo, was most certainly an added bonus, but Potter was visibly thankful for the change in subject and intrigued by the prospect of seeing some magic in action. Revelling in the warm flow of energy, Draco aimed his new wand at Potter's glasses and said "Occulo Reparo."

"Wow... Thank you." Potter's stunned expression, when the dreadful tape finally came loose, the deep scratches on metal and lenses disappearing until they revealed a perfectly repaired pair of glasses, elicited a small self satisfied chuckle from Draco. "There you go. Now you're all set for school."

"Thanks!" In this moment a tutting and cooing Madame Malkins returned and Draco hurried to let his wand glide back into its holster. "So, Hogwarts uh... Harry... Do you have any idea what house you are going to be in? Most first years are pretty excited for their sorting."

"House?" Potter was looking at him with an entirely too blank expression.

_Sweet Salazar._

_Has nobody even tried to explain the boy anything? Is the Order stupid enough to think that leaving him in the dark preserves his innocence or any of that shite? If that's the case it's a fucking miracle that Potter managed to survive as long as he did the last time around._

Fighting to keep his growing agitation at bay, Draco elaborated, a waving gesture used to signify the passing of time. "Hogwarts was founded by four friends almost ten centuries ago. Each of them valued different traits in their students. Helga Hufflepuff chose witches and wizards who excelled by relying on hard work and loyalty, Rowena Ravenclaw taught the witty and knowledgeable, Godric Gryffindor those inclined to be brave and bold and Salazar Slytherin the cunning and self preserving. They left a long-lasting legacy which is honoured to this day by sorting all the first year students in the four Houses: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin. They compete against each other for the House and the Quidditch cup. Loyalty between the House members is meant to be as binding as the bonds that tie us to our respective families, a higher purpose if you will, but no one honours the old ways that much anymore. Now the members of a House are mostly united in their rivalry against the other three."

Softening his voice a bit Draco added. "I believe your parents were both Gryffindors, so I reckon it's a fair guess that you might end up there. Sometimes our familial magic is predisposed to fit one house more than the others. My parents were both in Slytherin and father is quite intent on my continuing of the family tradition, but it is without question the house with the worst reputation."

Partially well deserved, but good grief, sometimes the bias just borders on being ridiculous. No matter, Potter'll be in Gryffindor, anyway.

"My parents were in Gryffindor?" Potter's faint voice took on an almost strangled quality, pain bleeding into his voice, making Draco's heart clench with empathy. Granted his childhood might have been far more enjoyable without Lucius constantly breathing down his neck, but he loved his mother dearly. To imagine a world where he had never had the chance to get to know her sent icy chills straight down his spine. With a slightly sheepish grimace Potter remarked. "That's good to know. I guess being sorted there might be nice, but brave and bold, doesn't really sound like me."

Not able to suppress an amused chuckle, because seriously the idea of Potter not being a bleeding heart Gryffindor was certainly taking things way too far, Draco said. "We'll just have to wait and see, I suppose. Besides, there are way more important things than house affiliation." Thoughtfully, he added, taking the opportunity to find out Potter's address. "You know there's still like a month or so to go until Hogwarts starts, would you want to exchange some letters with me? I've to admit I'm quite curious about the muggle world."

As if on cue, the half giant appeared in the shopwindow, holding up a beautiful snow owl with his large hands, which caused Potter to let out a small gasp. "Well, I guess that answers my question, if you'll get an owl of your own." Draco drawled out amusedly, noticing Potter's happiness at the unexpected gift.

Hope and excitement shone from the other boy's eyes when his gaze snapped back to Draco and he asked somewhat disbelievingly, his breath accelerating noticeably. "You'd really want to write me, Draco?" And she's still spinning… Pleasantly surprised to get addressed by his first name, Draco reassured Potter, filing away the hint of disbelief he had detected in the boy's voice for later contemplation. "Of course Po... for Merlin's sake... Harry, I mean."

_Salazar help me, I'm really making friends with Potter._

The mere idea of being on friendly terms with Potter after years of shared animosity was mind boggling. Blaise would have a field day with this when Draco told him in one of his letters, but then he could probably shut Zabini up with a pointed reference to his affair with the oldest Weasley brother. Or maybe not, given the tragic way their story had ended. Nonetheless, Luna had been utterly devastated by Potter's death in the original timeline, the least he could do for her, was making sure that this, by the way, far more tolerable kid, was well taken care of.

Draco was almost thankful when Madame Malkins interrupted the slight awkwardness of the moment to pat him and Potter on the back, a gesture which only added to their shared discomfort, and told them. "Alright dearies, you are both ready to go."

After they had both thanked the shopkeeper witch and had paid her the requested amount of Galleons, Potter and Draco left the shop together. On the outside they parted ways with the promise to write to each other, Draco heading over to Potage's to join up with Severus and Potter trotting after Hagrid to Fortescue's in order to get some ice cream. However, Draco was still well within earshot when he heard Hagrid saying to Potter. "Harry, yer know I would'n tell yer n'thing wrong. Yer should be very careful with da Malfoy boy. Da Malfoy's 're very bad business. Dark wizards da 'hole lot of 'em."

_Well, nothing new there. Just less accurate this time around. Or maybe more... depending on your view point, I suppose. After all being a Death Eater's son is by far not as incriminating as actually being a former Death Eater and the Dark Lord's second in command_ _._

Nevertheless the words stung quite a bit, Draco had to admit as much, even if it was only to himself. Blaming children for the sins of their fathers, especially if said father was an abusive arsehole like Lucius Malfoy, was a bit hypocritical, considering that the light always claimed to be so awfully inclusive and nonjudgmental. Maybe he would have understood the gamekeeper's scepticism, if he had treated the Potter boy with anything but kindness; however, as it was he had done nothing except making an honest effort to be nice to the kid.

_Not as if anyone on their side seems to have picked up on Potter's sorry state..._

Quite honestly in the original timeline Draco hadn't been all that bothered by the heavy stigma which surrounded all of Slytherin house and the Malfoy family in particular. As ridiculous as it was that the whole school cast eleven year old children as the villains just because a rusty old hat had decided that they had the sheer audacity to want to achieve something in their life and then denied any responsibility when said children acted out... The general anti Slytherin sentiment had definitely helped to maintain the arrogant and contemptuous facade Lucius had expected of his son and heir.

However, viewed in retrospect it became quite clear, that ostracising a whole house had been bound to create even more division and had deepened the already existing divide between the Slytherin students and the three other houses. Considering that Slytherin's mostly kept to themselves, associating with the childhood friends they had already made way before their arrival at Hogwarts and a rotating circle of political opportune acquaintances, meeting their prejudices against muggleborns with another set of prejudices had resulted in an environment the Dark Lord had been able capitalise upon. It wasn't for nothing that one of their most important rules dictated that Slytherins protected their own against the rest of the world. No matter how vicious they treated each other within the sanctity of their private rooms.

_We have to find a better way this time around! I am not prepared to see my whole house get embroiled into the machinations of that mad man for a second time. At least they should be aware that they have a real choice, not being torn between the values of their families and a side that simply shuns them on principle._

Draco had been so caught up in his contemplations that he was taken by surprise when he and Severus finally in front of the Magical Menagerie. Owls staring at them with round amber eyes, their soft hooting sounds fighting against the constant sea of noises flowing around them. Ever since his mother had made the suggestion to purchase a cat, Draco had been torn on the subject matter, sort of waging a mental battle with himself.

On the one hand, the offer of fulfilling one of his dearest childhood wishes was more than tempting. If he had to relive his youth in the body of an eleven year old, all the while trying to safe the wizarding world, then why not indulge in something innocent for once: Something uncomplicated. Untainted, just like caring for a pet. On the other hand, Draco was quite convinced, that Lucius was going to be livid, as soon as he found out that they had acquired something so utterly plebeian and all around unsuitable for the heir and youngest representative of the Malfoy family.

Breeding horses, like the prized selection of Abraxans, Phaetons, Granians and Aethonans that currently inhabited the stables of Malfoy Manor, was a respectable pastime amongst the magical aristocracy: Projecting wealth and adherence to age old family tradition. Some of them even had family trees, long enough that they could rival any British pureblood. However, keeping a kitten in the Slytherin dungeons would not quite suit the image Lucius wanted Draco to cultivate. A fact that he might even have considered a bonus under other circumstances, however, there was no way to guarantee that Lucius would not vent his frustration on Narcissa, Dobby or even the poor, unwittingly offending cat. Risking his mother's wellbeing was the very last thing Draco intended to do.

"Uncle Sev?" Severus dark eyes shot down towards him, giving Draco the reassurance he needed, signaling that he had his godfather's undivided attention. Hurrying to get out his request before his mother had the opportunity to rejoin them, Draco pressed on, voice lowered in the futile pursuit of privacy. "Would you do me a favour, if I asked you to? Preferably, without questioning my judgement on the matter?"

One of Severus' eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly, the only sign that Draco's godfather had, in fact, heard his question. "I'd say that depends entirely on the favour, you are asking for, Draco. However, as long as it is within the realms of reason, I can't see a good reason why I wouldn't."

_Well, here goes nothing..._

"I dare to presume, and please correct me if I am mistaken, that you know, probably just as well as I do, that father won't be all too thrilled about this last purchase on our list. I imagine even less so, since neither mother nor I have actually bothered to consult him on the matter, not that he'd have agreed to it if we had." A humourless chuckle broke free, followed by a harsh bite to the tongue as soon as Draco realised how cynical his voice had sounded. "Anyway, there's not much either of us can do about that part, but when father mentions it to you, which I'm quite sure he will, could you tell him that I used my illness in order to manipulate mother into allowing me to buy the cat? It would be the best option for everyone involved."

Draco could almost see the cogs turning in Severus head, however before the potions master could form a reasonable reply; they were interrupted by Narcissa's arrival, her slender hand giving Draco's shoulder a small squeeze before she exhaled a relieved sigh. "Draco, Severus. There you are. I've been looking for you." Reaching into her bag, she procured a pair of brand new seeker gloves. "Lucius asked me to buy those for you, Draco. Next year you might even try out for the house team, don't you think? You are a great seeker already, as far as I can tell, but you know how little interest I take in the sport."

_I might do just that... If Lucius wouldn't believe that I can't do it on my own and insists on buying those stupid brooms again..._

"Sure, Maman." He nodded noncommittally, hoping that his mother would not notice the thin edge of bitterness lacing his voice. At least it did not show in her demeanour as she put the gloves back, before gesturing towards the entrance of the Magical Menagerie. "Shall we, then?"

When the three of them stepped into the shop together, once again activating a ringing bell as soon as they had stepped through the narrow entrance, Draco could feel Severus eyes following his very move. Observing. Assessing. Calculating. However, he pretended, not to notice his godfather's intent gaze, instead letting his own eyes roam over the somewhat shabby interior of the shop, sizing up the various cages lining the walls. Predominately owl cages, but there were the odd snakes, newts, frogs and toads in the reptile section, a few crups and there on the far off wall, a line up of cats in various sizes.

_Well, at least I hopefully don't have to worry about Maman anymore..._

Draco knew Severus good enough to be reasonably sure that the potions master would comply with his request, preferably without asking all too many questions. It really did not need an experienced Legilimens to figure out that things with Lucius were not exactly what they should be. However, in this particular case Draco speculated on his godfather's erstwhile ignorance of the disproportionally violent manner in which the high and mighty Lord of Malfoy Manor would choose to demonstrate his displeasure once he was confronted with his son's 'disgraceful insolence' or whatever the sadistic bastard might come up with as a justification. Otherwise the potions master possibly might not have concurred with his godson's attempt to shoulder all the blame.

Not entirely comfortable at the prospect of taking advantage of his godfather's trust, as little as the other wizard would be affected by the consequences, Draco swallowed hard and returned his attention to the cats. Eyes roaming over the unruly assortment, which ranged from purebred kneazles with their scrunched in faces to common house-cats and all the halves, quarters and eighths in between. From tiny kittens to proud tomcats with their chests puffed out, all prancing, tippling, in some cases even jumping to the forefront of their respective areas, stretching and meowing as if sensing Draco's interest in them.

Eventually he stopped in front of the separate kitten area, marvelling at the collective fluffiness vying for his attention. Black, red, brown, white, spotted and stripped balls of fur, all climbing over each other and pawing at their wooden confines. From the corner of his eyes Draco caught a short flicker of stormy grey at the back of the magically expanded area, drawing his gaze away from the excited bustling at his feet to an unusually large kitten, who had obviously opted not to join in the merriment of its companions. However, where its size might have classified her as a fully grown house cat its features were all kitten, not yet sharpened by age and experience. Nevertheless the deliberate graze of its movements were already indicative of an aspiring predator, as Draco noted when the high frame quickly disappeared behind one of the wooden toys the shopkeeper had laid out for them, hiding out of his sight with ease.

Intrigued Draco narrowed his eyes on the spot where the cat was hiding, trying to catch another glimpse of it, not minding the muted voices of meaningless niceties his mother was undoubtedly exchanging with the overexcited shopkeeper.

His undivided attention was soon rewarded with a flash of sharp brown eyes, regarding him with far more intelligence than one would normally expect to see in an animal. As sharp minded as kneazles were commonly rumoured to be. Not one to leave a challenge unanswered Draco met the greyhaired fluffball's gaze with a slight curving of his eyebrows, almost releasing a most unbecoming squeak when he felt the sudden nudging at his mental defences.

_What on earth...?_

However, instead of following the pattern of a conventional mind-attack the foreign presence did not even bother to try prying its way through Draco's protections, remaining steadily at the surface and projecting a series of tumultuous mental imagery. The first scene was overshadowed by loneliness and fear. Darkness. Darkness and desperation. Then the darkness gave way to a blinding light, before coldness flooded Draco's senses. There was water. So much freezing water... Tiny paws struggling tirelessly against the merciless current. Desperate wails fighting against the thundering of the water hitting unyielding stones...

Unexpectedly the entire scene changed completely, now showing a pale boy with a pointed face, fondness etched into his relaxed features as he looked at a large cat, almost reaching up to Draco's waist, playfully pawing at his leg. Warmth and contentment radiated from the picture followed closely by another which depicted the very same cat presenting a slain Hodag to the platinum haired boy from earlier. Himself, as Draco realised belatedly, not exactly accustomed to his newly rejuvenated appearance.

"You certainly are something else, aren't you little one?"

_Although 'little one' is most definitely a loosely applied term in this case._

Untrained in the art of sharing information via Legilimency in the same way the little cat had just done, Draco did his best to send her an impression of his approval of her obviously nicely thought-out approach. Vulnerable and yet delightfully resourceful... The former Slytherin Prince in him could certainly admire such a perfectly executed manipulation. First a slight tug on the heartstrings for the sentimental fools immediately bolstered with an offer of kindness and companionship. Lastly a scene that was intended to showcase the cats' abilities as a provider and hunter, so no... There was no significant aspect the little bugger had overlooked.

_And Salazar damn it, if the plan isn't working exactly as intended. I certainly didn't expect to be so terribly impressed with any of the cats._

Almost as if in response to his thought the kitten stretched itself and strutted majestically to the forefront of its designated area, slumping down into a sitting position regarding Draco with an air of curious haughtiness. Every fibre projecting self-assured confidence, entirely contradictory to the aura of bashfulness Draco had sensed earlier... Covered in silvery white fluff, the little kitten looked already like a quintessential Malfoy, at least if it had not been for the expressive brown eyes, regarding him with way more trust than he could imagine to have earned in such a short time.

_Merlin help me, but I think I' want to keep you little one!_

Unsure how exactly he should handle thepurchase Draco bend down, awkwardly scooping the kitten into his arms. A gentle gesture, which was met with loud protestations of the cat's scorned companions, but thankfully no actual acts of resistance from the kitten herself. After he had manoeuvred the poor thing into a slightly more comfortable position, Draco let his fingers glide through the tawny fur. The calming ministrations paid off when the cat lost the last remaining traces of stiffness and began to profess its contentment with a velvety purr.

"What an interesting choice, Mr. Malfoy."

_Oh, for fuck's sake!_

It went to show how much had changed in the future that Draco already felt his patience waning when it came down to dealing with demonstrably friendly shopkeepers. Once he had relished in the attention: Witches and wizards stumbling over their own feet in order to accommodate them, just on account of the Malfoy name being synonymous with immeasurable wealth. There had been an indescribable rush of power associated to it, a sense of control which had been sorely lacking in most other aspect of his life. Now, the repetitive professions of respect and the praise that came along with it were nothing, if not awfully tiresome. Especially given that the vast majority probably cursed them inwardly as 'treacherous snakes' and in the even less favourable cases as 'Death Eater scum'.

_Never mind that Maman and I hate Lucius with every fibre of our being. Human nature is full of such delightful hypocrisy..._

Despite his unwillingness, Draco affected a relaxed expression, jawline tightening into a grimace. Just friendly enough that the annoyingly exuberant shopkeeper witch, clad in an old-fashioned set of dress robes which almost rivalled the utter monstrosity that had been Weaselbee's Yule ball attire, might just interpret as the cold caricature of a smile. "Is that so, Mrs?" Inclining his head just the faintest bit, he added with an inward roll of his eyes at the faux cordiality. "Draco Malfoy, Merry meet. Please forgive my lack of a formal introduction Mrs., but as you've undoubtedly noticed there's another Lady who is currently requiring the entirety of my attention."

Just like in the robe shop beforehand, Draco's Slytherin charm seemed to work wonders, dispelling some of the falseness coating the witch's voice, despite the wariness he could still see lurking in the very depths of her eyes. With a bit of genuine warmth, she stated, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Merry meet, to you too, Mr. Malfoy. Felina Rossbore. This shop belongs to me."

Sending a fond smile down to the kitten curled up in his arms, Mrs. Rossbore explained with a sharpness he would not have thought her capable of. "She's a very special one, you know? Shy, but you can already tell that she's going to be a right handful when she's a bit older! Wampus blood breeds them wilder than most, quick on their feet and with the spirit of the Great Warrior. Certainly not a silly children's pet, Mr. Malfoy and not a toy to be used and then discarded when another fancy strikes your interest. Despite her youth she's seen way too much of human cruelty already, I owe it to her to find her a good home."

_Well, that came out of nowhere!_

Torn between amusement at the obvious error in his initial assessment of Felina Rossbore and the instant indignation the witch's doubt had caused to well inside of him, Draco drawled, ignoring the little voice in his head that told him that the shopkeeper was just doing her job. And a good one at that… Insisting to be sure that her charges grew up in a caring environment. "How unusually direct of you, Mrs. Rossbore! If we are both at liberty to speak so freely, then would you care to tell me why exactly you deem it appropriate to call my good character into question?"

Visibly steeling her resolve, Felina Rossbore answered sharply. "I've already told you my reasons. Malfoy or not, the perceived slight against your 'good character' doesn't matter to me in the slightest! What matters, is that this little kitten is the only survivor of her litter, after some heartless bastard tried to drown them during a raid of the local blackmarket and that she deserves nothing but the best. So I'll definitely not sell her, unless you can guarantee to me that she'll be well cared for!"

_At least that explains the memory from earlier. No wonder that she's so protective of the kitten._

Impressed by the shopkeeper's fiery conviction, most likely a former Gryffindor, Draco chuckled lightly, once again managing to catch the witch off guard. "So what do you propose, Mrs. Rossbore? How shall I win your approval? A wizards bond? An unbreakable vow? Would my word suffice? Or do you require an oath on magic itself?"

By now, Draco could almost feel the watchful gazes of his mother and Severus following the more or less heated exchange with notable interest, even though both of them refrained from stepping in prematurely. A quiet demonstration of trust in his negotiating abilities, which gave the blonde wizard a healthy boost of quiet satisfaction.

"I don't..."

"You see, with all due respect, Mrs. Rossbore, and I'm certainly not unappreciative of your passion on the subject, I have to respectfully disagree with you on quite the crucial point. Your opinion of my character is by no means inconsequential to this discussion." He paused for effect, before he continued with a sardonic smirk. "Right now, I could easily use a thousand words to reassure you of my earnestness... Could promise to move heaven and earth on behalf of this little cat and yet there's little to no guarantee that you'll consider me sincere. If you can't bring yourself to believe in my integrity, then all my pretty words would be wasted, wouldn't they?"

_Who'd have thought that I'd have to make use of my experiences in politics, while trying to buy a cat? You're already a bunch of trouble, little one…_

Felina's eyes looked like they might bulge out of her skull at any moment, presumably at hearing an eleven year old tear through her arguments without the slightest hint of hesitancy. Calm and collected, as if they had been talking about the weather and not Draco's capability of caring for the adorable fluff ball, who had decided to ignore the altercation and take a nap in his arms. Sensing the shopkeeper's inner turmoil, the young wizard said evenly, his earlier reproachfulness evaporating. "Look, Mrs. Rossbore I can understand your concern to a certain extent, so I'm willing to give you my word that I'll provide her with the home that she deserves and nothing less... She seems to like me well enough, don't you think?"

Almost on cue the kitten resumed her purring, proving Draco's point and eliciting a small sigh from Mrs. Rossbore as she said quietly. "Astonishingly so..." Righting her robes, the older witch lowered her head in order to meet Draco's expectant eyes. "I think I owe you an apology, Mr. Malfoy... I've grown quite attached to the little menace, as it would seem. It wasn't within my rights to treat you with such overt suspicion, especially since she seems to be quite attached to you already."

_Well I very much prefer the overt kind to the backstabbing one, so…_

"No harm done, as far as I am concerned." Waving anz further apology off, Draco moved to the shelves where various pet utensils were laid out for the customers' perusal. "In fact I believe your resolve to protect the animals in your care to be rather admirable. Mrs. Rossbore. Although I won't lie and pretend that your insistency on my lack of responsibility wasn't a tad annoying. Nevertheless, I'd appreciate your expertise, while selecting the necessary everyday items for her. You said she's part Wampus? Do you have a reasonable estimation how much her heritage will show in the end?"

Accepting the offered olive branch with grace, Felina Rossbore eyed the purring cat critically. "Only a quarter at most, but it's rather hard to tell when they are this young... She'll be larger than most other breeds, kneazles included. Collars probably won't be to her liking and she already prefers fresh strips of meat to any kind of specifically prepared cat food. Other than that I can't think of any peculiarities that would set her apart from any other cat... "

_So you haven't used your abilities on Felina..._

The petty thought prompted a small grin to make an appearance on Draco's face, as he followed the middle-aged witch through the shop, his mother and Severus joining them with the occasional helpful interjections, while they selected a set of dark, wooden bowls completed with permanent stasis charms and one with a regularly refilling water supply. A self-cleaning toilet, covered in glamours so it would resemble a quiet hide out in a forested area, shielded from prying eyes by the surrounding thicket.

The cozy pet bed they had ended up with was actually intended for large dog breeds, but according to Mrs. Rossbore there was a fair chance that the kitten would outgrow the others that had been on offer. On Narcissa's insistence they had even added two magical toys, a wooden sparrow to encourage the cat to practice her hunting skills and a charmed glove to offer petting sessions whenever Draco would find himself to be preoccupied.

By the time they had finally stepped out of the shop, the kitten had woken up and settled herself on Draco's shoulder, the fur softly tickling his ear as they quickly moved towards the nearest apparition point.

"Oh, Draco... She's truly magnificent! Have you already settled on a name for her, mon cheri? I've always been quite impartial to Atalanta, you know? There where some times when I thought... And given her history the name seems even more fitting, the poor thing. The original Atalanta as you may recall, was a fierce huntress, abandoned by her family and left to die on a mountaintop and thereby forced to grow up in the wilderness."

Still mulling the idea over, Draco felt how the kitten pressed her head against his, projecting feelings of contentment and approval, followed by an image of his mother mid-sentence.

'Atalanta'

The kitten's pronunciation was slightly off, which Draco supposed to be an inevitable result of translating the name back and forth, but her meaning could not have been clearer at this point. Smiling ominously the blonde wizard reached for his mother's hand, giving it a quick squeeze, while exchanging a short glance with Severus who had moved closer to the proud witch. His calm presence offering as much comfort as the potions master was able to give her in such a public setting.

"Atalanta it is, then."

And with those words the world began to spin around them, the apparition pulling them back to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

_17th of August 1991_

_Zabini Residence_

_Kent_

_England_

_Draco Malfoy,_

_Oh, mate, whatever would I've done without the joys of your unfiltered cynicism delivered with my morning post. I'll keep it brief. By no means such a veritable epithet as you've produced, even if the ground we've to cover in such a limited form of communication is obviously quite substantial._

_As for your first question, as well as the following twenty or so, I'd say it's not the right time to immerse ourselves in the innumerable 'What Ifs' of our current predicament. Nothing good will ever come of it._

_Regarding your suggestion that I could abstain from playing any role in the upcoming war effort, there's little space I want to waste on contradicting such a ludicrous idea. Just so you know, there's no way you are going to get rid of me now, mate. We are in this together. Although, Merlin, you can be terribly daft sometimes... 'No strong bonds connecting you to either side' my arse! Even if I didn't consider you to be family, leaving you to sort out this fucking shit storm all on your own, would be a bloody terrible way to pay back the life debt I still owe you._

_Yeah I noticed as much... Charlie used to say that someone clearheaded should have seen from the start that a war couldn't be won by relying on a single prophecy and vague promises, but they had been raised their whole life in an environment where Dumbledore's authority was not to be questioned. Then he died and all the little cracks they'd tried to ignore, began to show in the facade. Charlie could be terribly bitter from time to time. I'm not sure who he blamed more... The headmaster for gambling away any chance they might have had to win against the Dark Lord, or his parents for buying into the old man's rhetoric._

_I'll stop calling you a swot if you just stopped that old and tired Hufflepuff nonsense already. It's been ten years... Don't you think that would be the right time to get over it?_

_Ugh. Occlumency lessons, why am I so not looking forward to those?_

_Kudos, to doing all that research... Swot... Do you think the four weeks I've spent almost dying from a fever might have counted as Time's sacrifice? I mean it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience, was it?_

_Can't say I disagree on the part wit the changes, though if I'm perfectly honest I wouldn't have thought about the continuity problems in the first place..._

_Being dead in the future we try to prevent from happening actually doesn't bother me as much as it probably should... I mean life wasn't exactly sunshine and roses, so there's not exactly much I could miss!_

_The fact that we're eleven, though, creeps me out quite a bit. Even more so when I think about seeing Theo again... And not the hateful caricature he's turned into, the man who betrayed me and then handed me over to the Dark Lord, but the person he used to be. The wizard I fell in love with._

_Can you even separate the one from the other?_

_Not to mention that Theo is fucking ELEVEN, mate. I'd feel like a bloody pervert, even if it was just talking to him, not anything with some sort of romantic or even sexual connotation. Talk about disturbing!_

_Transfiguration's still a pain in the ass, the E on my NEWT notwithstanding, but yes, I agree that it doesn't appear as if our magical capacity has suffered from the time reversal._

_As for our behaviour at Hogwarts, now that's definitely a point which warrants careful consideration... At first glance keeping our abilities quiet seems like the sensible thing to do. Just like you said, we really don't need to attract more attention than absolutely necessary._

_However, the war is fast approaching and given the fact that we can't exactly trust the Order to handle things responsibly, the importance of positioning at least one of us in a position of power might outweigh the risks. You were well respected as the Prince of Slytherin but you need to accumulate considerably more influence if we are to have any hope at fracturing the support the Dark Lord commands as the last living heir of our house._

_Not to mention we've better things to do than pretend to be challenged by something as mundane as a levitation spell! I might not have been in the same league as you and Granger but there are some limits to my abilities to feign total ignorance._

_Speaking of Granger... I am currently working on something regarding our newfound ally. I don't much fancy having to sneak around whenever we want to meet up with her._

_I'm sure she'll come around, mate._

_Let me know how you want to play the meeting at King's Cross,_

_Blaise_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you liked Harry and Atalanta. And what might Blaise be up to?


	10. Paths intertwined Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, let’s get right into it...
> 
> We have a guest appearance of Lucius, the not so dead bastard... followed by a heart to heart between Draco and Narcissa, Kings Cross with a first dash of Slytherin politics and Draco has to appease his furious friends... Namely Daphne and Pansy, who weren't all that appreciative of his lack of letters... To top it all off, we get to meet Neville and hear a bit of Draco's split feelings on Theo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovelies!
> 
> Yes, I'm late... Sorry for that, but there was so much to write and with the holidays and all, my schedule got rather predictably messed up. Hope the lengthy chapter makes up for it, though.
> 
> And yeah, I know we had a lot of the mother/son sweetness already, but it's important for the progression of the story and besides, now that the school year is about to begin we'll see a lot less of Narcissa from here on out. Unfortunately... I love writing her so much! 
> 
> Pucey is... actually decent, but understandably confused.  
> Flint’s quiet, but with a lot of torturous potential...  
> And Draco has friends, who surprisingly don’t appreciate being left on the sidelines of this story, so no Hermione, Blaise and Draco talk in this chapter. I know, that was initially promised, but I’ve kept that for Part 2 because the conversation is building up to be quite the lengthy thing and I’m already far above the average 6000 words I had planned to upload every second week...  
> In return you get Neville... The sweetheart. Not Draco’s biggest fan, though, but Draco seems to have a thing with potential Gryffs who don’t believe they can live up to their parents legacy.
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter. Duh... But playing with the characters is sooo much fun!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter as much as I did while writing it and I solemnly swear to reign in my Author’s notes the next time...

“You'd do well not to disappoint me, boy. It seems nigh inevitable, useless child that you are, but I'll not have my only son and heir soil the good name of our House by gallivanting with the riffraff. Filth which Dumbledore, the senile old fool, allows to desecrate the most honoured halls of our ancestors. There are certain expectations that come with the Malfoy name and fortune. Standards I very much expect you to uphold, whether it might concern the nature of your uh… chosen associates or the talent displayed in your classes. We are the blood of Dragons. Royalty. Elevated above our peers by rights of blood, magic and millennia of tradition. Leaders and Rulers, never far from the epicentres of power and decision-making. Anything short of outstanding achievements or even worse shameful mediocrity will not be tolerated, no matter the circumstances! Do we understand each other, Draco?"

_Salazar, no wonder I was such a right little shit… Practically being force-fed comparable rhetoric for the better part of your life would probably cloud anyone's judgment! Lucius certainly sounds even more ludicrous than I remember and that's saying something…_

Beyond the rather uh... questionable content of Lucius' silk covered words, the deceptive softness of his voice hardly enough to conceal the sharp edge of a dark promise lurking in their depths, the tall wizard in question had exceptionally little in common with the hollow shell he had been reduced to over the course of the Dark Lord's reign. Stiff and proud. Long platinum hair tied back at the nape of his neck in the manner most conservative wizards preferred it these days. His richly decorated clothes as usual sporting a variety of black, greys and greens, speaking of a life lived in comfortable wealth but without succumbing to the temptations of excess. In short, he held himself like a powerful wizard in his prime, exuding nothing but confidence and an air of sharp coldness, verging on deliberate cruelty.

_So full of the overinflated pride he treasures above all else. Merlin, what I'd give to show him how far he will fall... But then I don't think I can wait another ten years to see the bastard get his well-deserved comeuppance!_

Catching the slight paling of his mother's cheeks at the edges of his periphery, Draco bit back the scathing, bitingly sarcastic retort he had been balancing on the tip of his tongue. All the while ignoring the pointed fangs of the golden snake that adorned Lucius walking stick, as they were burrowing deeper and deeper into his shoulder. Cold metal scraping across the barely healed welts of the beating Lucius had given him hardly more than a day ago. The added force another reminder of his intended position within hierarchy of their household. Quiet and obedient, duty-bound to follow all orders the Head of the Malfoy family had decreed.

_Well, at least that's how it's supposed to be in theory._

In their particular case, reality certainly did not align with any such a theoretical framework, but Lucius did not have to know as much before Draco had found a failsafe way to dispose of the older wizard without earning himself a straight oneway ticket to the soul-eroding dreariness that was Azkaban. All things considered, having a premature family reunion with his deranged aunt was something he could really do without, thank you very much! Not when there was a reasonable chance that he would come up with a more viable strategy before the Yule hols, preferably one that would eliminate Lucius from the equation without putting his other plans at risk.

_I would feel better about the whole thing if the family magic wasn't in such a vulnerable state._

Distracted by the rather confusing turn of events their trip to Diagon Alley had taken... What with the eye opening meeting with the Boy Who Lived, not to mention the plethora of surprising implications... It had cost Draco an unduly amount of time to notice how erratic and out of sorts the ancestral Malfoy magic responded to his call. To gleam the glaring irregularities in its structure, without being in the possession of the family insignia. Not weakened to the brink of extinction, but divided, partially fractured, as if the quintessential fabric of their magic had not yet entirely recovered from the destruction it had faced in the original timeline. Just like Draco's forearm still bore the ragged prove of the darkness, which had been branded into his flesh.

Killing Lucius outright, while a rather inconsequential move at a time when their ancestral magic had already been poisoned beyond repair, could end up causing irreparable damage to a source of power they could hardly dismiss as inconsequential in this war. Leaving the dark affiliations of the Malfoy family aside, which had, at least initially, not necessarily been a product of pureblood mania and much more a profession of unwavering support for the old ways, the Manor itself as well as the lands that belonged it were invaluable from a strategic standpoint. After all, there had been a logical reason why the Dark Lord had elected it as the seat of his headquarters. One that went far beyond, at first 'honouring' and later shaming the family of one of his supporters within their own walls.

The Manor itself, for all its undeniable extravagance, was certainly not the most lavish piece of architecture pureblood society had to offer. One look at Fernwick Abbey, the ancestral home of the Greengrass family would suffice to disprove any such notion. Nevertheless, since the downfall of House Archhall in 1484 it had been the Malfoy family's privilege to boast of owning the most envied private building in Wizarding Britain. None other could compete with the power slumbering in its walls, the impenetrable warding that had only grown as new centuries passed. Its might only falling short in comparison to Hogwarts and Gringotts who certainly revealed their very own set of disadvantages, when being assessed for military value.

_I'll have to find a way to get rid of Lucius without compromising most of the strategic advantage being in control of Malfoy Manor will offer us!_

Resolved to keep his cowed facade securely in place, Draco forced his features to take on a pained quality, exaggerating the hot flares of pain the sharp edged metal sent through his shoulder, while he was answering Lucius' lecture with as much feigned submission as he could bear to muster. Head lowered in pretended shame, shoulders slouched just enough to hint at his remorseful state, without earning a sharp reprimand for his less than perfect posture. "Of course, father. I would never dare to disappoint you. As you have so aptly stated time and time again: Upholding our legacy is imperative in the current political climate. It wouldn't do to tarnish our reputation by cavorting with the wrong sort, not that I'd ever want to get close to such filth."

_Nonetheless, you want me to become friends with Harry Potter, the halfblood son of a bloodtraitor, just because it would suit your political goals, you spineless hypocrite!_

Face displaying equal parts satisfaction and disgust with his son's easy compliance, Lucius lips curved into a dark smile, doubling the pressure on Draco's shoulder. This time the blonde's wince was not entirely for show. As he had unfortunately come to learn since Lucius' arrival, his high insensitivity to physical pain had not been part of the soul transfer. The tolerance he had built up through years of endurance, be it Lucius' harsh discipline or Bella's idea of sensible 'training', irretrievably lost, even though his abilities to conceal his resulting reactions were considerably improved.

_Mind over matter, or some shite like that... Though, it doesn't change the fact that everything hurts somewhat fierce in this body!_

"Oh, I know you wouldn't dare to embarrass me! At least not if you care for the mangy fleabag Severus has so ill-advisedly insisted on buying you! Otherwise I am quite sure that some kind of accident might be arranged. Bad enough that your godfather was so easily swayed by your regrettable display of weakness. A Malfoy, the very epitome of pureblood pride, raising a cat in the noble halls of Slytherin. What has our world come to? Do you need to shame me any further?"

_Yeah, that came as quite a surprise, albeit not an unwelcome one. Not that uncle Sev's attempt at directing Lucius' ire away from us deterred the asshole from making his displeasure known, but the effort was still highly appreciated._

Mutely Draco nodded his assent, not trusting his voice not to betray the deep feeling of disgust and hatred that cursed through him, while his mother was moving towards her husband, making a clicking sound whenever the heels of her shoes hit the cold floor.

"Oh Lucius, I am sure Draco will handle the pet situation delicately. You have taught him well and you've got to admit Atalanta is not the most usual cat. She definitely won't stand in the way of Draco earning the respect of his peers." Her voice was soft. Calming and yet determined. Without doubt trying to distract Lucius from her son's flaring magic, which was almost in tune with the humming energy pulsating through the air. It already spoke to Lucius inattentiveness that he had not noticed the torn allegiance of their magic, how out of touch he had come with such an essential part of his identity as a wizard and the Head of House Malfoy.

_How deliciously ironic that Maman whose only claim to our magic is through marriage and being the mother of the future Lord would pick up on it, whilst the man who carries the family ring remains utterly ignorant._

Narcissa's gaze lingered on Draco a tad longer than strictly necessary, an increasingly common occurrence ever since Lucius had finally returned from France, shattering the almost idyllic atmosphere Severus, Narcissa and Draco had created ever since their trip to Diagon Alley. Their days filled with hours of potion brewing, where Draco had tried to up the ante, flying through the first three years of the Hogwarts curriculum without any major effort. Already setting the stage for the upset Blaise's, Granger's and his magical talent were bound to cause at the school.

_Can't really say I blame her... acting convincingly is much more difficult with Lucius around. Controlling my expression is one thing, but the unusual response of my magic is another matter altogether._

Unfortunately, his wife's interjection only served to enrage Lucius further, gaze snapping towards her with a cruel sneer. Violence radiating from his predatory stance, making Draco wish, his mother had not interfered on Atalanta's behalf. It was not as if Lucius could have killed the kitten outright, since it would have been regarded as a severe slight against Severus and in extension the Prince family. Who, while not a political heavyweight, made for an undeniably useful ally, being the only former Death Eater who had gained Dumbledore's confidence.

_Besides, I've sworn never to let any harm befall the fluffy menace, so obviously there's that!_

"Do I have to remind you of your place, love? It seems my absence has emboldened you unduly, or was it something else entirely? A cherished friend, perhaps?" Lucius' velvety voice had been transformed to a dangerous hiss, which snapped Draco out of his thoughts, just in time to see the older wizard's fingers tightening around Narcissa's forearm with a bruising grip.

Draco's knuckles turned white as they closed around the Cherry Wand, flashes of memories hitting him like a never-ending assault of bludgers. Impact upon impact. Their force making it impossible for him to react, to think, to breath. To do anything other than watch helplessly as the scenes rushed forward: There was his mother making him swear not to sacrifice his life for her. How her eyes had stayed on him during her impromptu trial, begging him silently to honour his pledge. Lucius calculated cruelty, so similar to the sneer he was sporting right now, as he raised his newly crafted wand. Green light erupting from the tip and hitting Draco's mother straight in the chest. Cold laughter ringing through the night, before she hit the ground. Lifeless eyes staring skywards.

 _No_!

"Tell me, _dearest_ _wife_ , have you enjoyed the pleasure of Severus' company? Did you yearn for his touch when you retired to your chambers at night? Imagined his greasy fingers all over your body? Wished it was him in your bed yesterday and not your rightful husband, whose touch repulses you? You are mine! Mine, Narcissa, do you understand? Mine, to do with as I..."

_Enough!_

"Confundo oblivionem!"

Purplish grey mist floated into Lucius head, his whole posture deflating as his memories of the last fifteen minutes were altered into a harmless conversation about house allegiances and the sort, allowing Narcissa to gracefully extricate herself from his grasp with a schooled ease that only added to Draco's crippling anger. Thoughts, a hazy turmoil of past and present, rendering him utterly unable to speak, to say something, anything that would miraculously minimise the fallout of his atypically rash actions.

_Merlin, what have I done?_

His mother's features were frozen in disbelief, mixed with a hint of trepidation that made Draco's chest ache painfully, but also propelled him into action. Words void of any emotion, almost clinical, as his mind sharpened and rapidly refocused on the task of thinking through the ramifications of his ill-timed intervention. "Maman? I need you to lead father to the table where we had breakfast... Or even better the floo chamber... The spell I used is... Let's just say there are certain peculiarities in its execution. He'll need some time to gather his bearings and it would be in our best interest to make the transition as seamless as possible."

She nodded stiffly, giving him a last critical look, before leading her obedient husband from the room. Leaving Draco to his own devices, who was still reeling from the horrible flashbacks, sinking down on the cold marble floor, body slumped against the wall. By the time his mother had returned to the parlour, he had managed to empty his thoughts by employing some basic Occlumency techniques. Rearranging his mental landscape and smoothing out the ripples Lucius threat against Narcissa had caused.

_I shouldn't have done that... Salazar, Maman will want an explanation. An answer I'm by no means at liberty to give._

For a short moment he had actually played with the idea of obliviating his mother, followed shortly by a numbing bang of self loathing for even contemplating such a massive invasion in her privacy, without even giving her the chance to react to her son's newly discovered magical aptitude.

_It's a lot to process. No shit..._

Not to mention the way he had chosen to curse his own father without batting an eyelid, a disconcerting if not even incriminating action at the best of times, regardless of it happening in her defence. He did not want her to be afraid of him.

 _Never_.

Releasing a heavy sigh, he dragged his fingers through his hair, forcing himself to meet his mother's unreadable gaze. "Maman... I... For Salazar's sake, you've got to believe me when I tell you that I didn't plan for this to happen. Not anytime soon and certainly not today, but he was looking at you that way and I couldn't bear the thought of loosing you!"

_Not again._

_Never again..._

His mind screamed at him, as she kneeled down at his side, meeting his stormy eyes as he spoke with increasing fervour. A silent tear leaving a silvery path on her cheek. "He's got no right. No right at all, to treat you the way he does. And damn it I thought I could act as if nothing had changed, but it has... it has... Everything has changed and I won't stand by like a bloody coward while he's abusing you like that. I'm sick and tired of it all. Not when I've got more than enough power to help you! I feel bad enough about going off to Hogwarts and leaving you alone with him, but what difference does it really make if I let him treat you like this when I'm around... When I can prevent it... That's not the kind of wizard. The kind of son, I want to be..."

"Shh, come here, mon cheri..." Arms tightened around him and after the initial shock had subsided, Draco felt himself melt into the safety of his mother's arms. Allowing her relaxing voice to wash some of his worries away. "Now, I want you to listen and listen very closely, Draco! You're the most precious thing I've been granted in my life, and Merlin knows, I probably know you far better than you'll ever give me credit for." At Draco's alarmed expression she chuckled lightly, the sound vibrating softly through her body. "Keep your secrets all you like, darling, I'll trust you to tell me when the time is right, but a mother still knows her child and you've changed far more than I think you've realised yourself!"

_Oh..._

"I am still your son... You still... c... care for me, don't you?" Draco's voice was hoarse, a broken whisper, not exactly pleading for her acceptance, but for sure not that far off. The desperate fear of his family's rejection, which had plagued him all his youth, once again rearing its ugly head. Insecurities. Like a curse wound that had never truly healed: Lying dormant. Drifting to the surface whenever he was at his most vulnerable.

His mother loosened her grip, leaning away from him until they were eye to eye. Her demonstratively Slytherin green robes rustling across the pristine marble as she stated, face equal parts pained and determined. "Oh darling! That has not and will never be up for debate. Nothing could ever change my love for you. And yet, I've failed you so terribly... When you were born I held you in my arms and swore to myself that I'd never let any harm befall you, that I'd protect you with my life if need be, and now look at you. Barely eleven summers old and already doing the things I should have done years ago. I've failed you, mon cheri, forgive me..."

' _I'm proud of you Draco, of the man you have become!'_

_'The greatest tragedy for a mother is to see her child pass before its time.'_

_'Don't you dare, Draco Alexander Malfoy, to sacrifice your life for mine. I won't stand for it! Not when I've already failed you more terribly than ought to be acceptable.'_

_'Promise me, mon cheri! Promise me!'_

_'How can I promise such a thing, mother? How can you ask me to give you my word, when you know it would destroy me to keep it!'_

_'But you'd be alive. Alive to see another day. To find the happiness I've never had to offer. Of all my many regrets that's the only one I can't forgive myself. Please, Draco, I beg you! Death is coming to all of us, Draco. Would you deny me my peace so cruelly, when you can offer it so easily. Just a few words to give your mother comfort.'_

_'For Salazar's sake you know that's not fair...'_

_'Then that's my cross to bear... If your resentment of me is the prize for keeping you alive then I'm more than prepared to pay it!'_

_'Please Maman, don't ask this of me! I can't... I can't...'_

_'You can and you will! Please... mon cheri! If you won't do it for me then do it for all the people whose lives are depending on your survival. The Lovegood girl... Luna, was it? She sometimes called your name in her sleep, you know? And of course there's the other one... The witch who holds your heart...'_

_'How... how... what do you...?'_

_'Hush now, some secrets are safer when they remain in the dark. Just don't let me stand in the way of your chance at happiness! It would shatter me, more surely than any curse ever could.'_

_'They can take care of themselves.'_

_'In a war no one has bothered preparing them for? Against an enemy who knows neither morals nor mercy? You are far too intelligent for such naïveté! If nothing else, then I've made sure of that...'_

_'Merlin and Morgane, you've got my word, mother. On my magic, even! But damn it all, if you ever get me in a position where I'm forced to keep it I'll... Just don't, Maman! Please don't! I don't know if I could ever forgive you, much less myself!'_

_'Avada Kedavra!'_

"There's nothing to forgive, Maman... Nothing..." Draco shook his head vehemently, hoping to convey his sincerity. Had his mother's facade of indifference hurt him in the original timeline.

 _Yes_.

Had it taken him time to forgive her for forcing a vow from him, which had damned him to silence, while her own husband had murdered her?

_Most certainly._

However, Draco had had a lot of time to brood over the matter, trying to see things from her perspective, how helpless she must have felt. Life irreversibly intertwined with a husband who had little warmth to give and was prone to violent outbursts. Growing up in a family where the Cruciatus had been regarded as a reasonable method of punishment and women were raised to be obedient dolls, not the fierce witches they could have been. Unhealed scars, which were most easily detectable in Bellatrix' wild madness. The girl who had rebelled against the status quo and still ended up shackled to a husband she abhorred. Nonetheless they were equally prominent in Narcissa, the youngest sister and the only one who had bowed to her family's expectations and never explored her potential beyond being the most perfect pureblood wife in existence.

_Insofar its actually remarkable how radically my near death has affected her..._

"Just promise me to take care of yourself, while I'm gone, Maman. It would go a long way to put me at ease, while I'm away..."

"I promise, Draco... On my magic and my honour." A weak smile curved his mother's lips, as she gracefully lifted herself from the floor and gestured towards the door. Steering the conversation effortlessly towards less emotionally demanding waters, as they stepped into the narrow corridor. "Now, let's meet your father at the floo entrance. Otherwise we'll be too late to stop for a chat with the other families before your train departs and Hyacinthia Parkinson has already expressed her disappointment about the fact that your illness has prevented me from attending our regular tea times. Poor dear, she had been working so hard on gaining my approval for your betrothal to her daughter."

_Well, fuck... I already forgot about that!_

Not betraying his unease with the topic Narcissa had chosen, Draco hummed with a pensive expression. "I presume you were of a mind to agree to our match? Pansy and I are to be wed? Do I have to prepare myself for courtship, Maman?"

_It was bloody weird the last time around and at the time I was not twice her age for Merlin's sake!_

"Would that be to your liking, mon cheri? Pansy Ariadne Malfoy... It does have a certain ring to it and as I understand it you are getting along just fine, more than most married couples can claim for themselves." Nothing in his mother's voice gave him any indication of her opinion on the matter, as she threw the question at him. A sly glint entering her eyes, that her son found to be rather unsettling.

_Well, no, not really. But to be fair to Pansy, I wouldn't be all too thrilled with any option my mother is likely to suggest. The only woman I could actually picture as my wife hates my guts... To the point that she'd gladly incinerate me on sight, which keeps the chances of there ever being a Hermione Jean Malfoy rather nonexistent!_

Resignedly Draco questioned, faithfully reciting the many reasons that had made the Malfoy Parkinson union such a desirable match in the original timeline. Before Pansy's 'untimely and tragic death' their wedding had shaped up to be the event of the century. The symbol of a new generation. "Does my opinion really matter, Maman? Pansy is the uncontested heiress of Lord Parkinson, well except the handful of halfblood cousins no one talks about, since the family has tried their best to keep the 'unworthy' affair tightly under wraps. And whilst her name doesn't hold the prestige of the Greengrasses, whose name is almost as old and noble as our own, at least her family has the necessary wealth to back it up. Unlike Astoria and Daphne, whose parents lack of business acumen has left them with nothing but their good reputation and the estate to recommend themselves."

"Besides, we are of one age. Equal disposition and temperament, paired with impeccable breeding, and even if Pansy loves to anger her mother beyond reason, she will grow to be a remarkable actress. Playing the role of my wife to perfection... They are perhaps a bit too closely intertwined with both my family trees, but then what respectable family isn't nowadays? Father will be pleased when you report Lady Parkinson's interest to him. Securing a third title by rights of marriage will only serve to further cement our dominance in Britain's pureblood society."

To his surprise his mother responded with a light hearted laugh, the high bell-like sound vibrating in the hallway, so contrary to his own gloominess at the prospect. "Gosh, Draco, if I'd really wanted an assessment of all her marriageable commodities I'd have asked her mother over for lunch." Rolling her eyes at her son's antics, she promised, with a wry smirk that was so similar to Severus' usual expression that it momentarily took his breath away. Merlin, those two had obviously spent too much time in each other's company lately. "However, I'll definitely take note of your uh... passionate endorsement of the idea and adjust my actions accordingly... You are both still so young, there's really no need to rush is there? Your father and I weren't engaged until my fifth year."

_Lucius might probably disagree on that point. His position within the Ministry is already quite strong but an alliance with the Parkinsons will consolidate his power and open many doors in the World of Wizarding News._

"Your engagement wasn't exactly the most conventional, was it? Both families had formed an agreement way before you were elected to be the Malfoy bride." Scepticism infused Draco's voice, already half resigned to the fact that he would not be able to deal with Lucius, before he had signed off on the contract. Halting his steps right in front of the door to the floo network, Draco ventured, knowing all too well that they would not be able to finish their talk in Lucius presence. "But for what it's worth, I'd be grateful for any delay in the negotiations. Courting rituals can be rather... uh... restricting and I'd very much prefer not having to make a declaration as soon as the Yule celebrations are upon us. As far as I can tell, Pansy would not appreciate it, either..."

Raising one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows his mother regarded him shrewdly. "I'll do what I can, darling! And in return I expect to hear nothing but the best about your progress in your studies. Severus has promised me to keep an eye on you..."

_I'd like to see him try..._

"Guess, it must have _some_ downsides to be the godson of my future Head of House." Allowing a grin to spread on his face, he opened the heavy oak door, and lowered his head in a playful bow. "After you my Lady."

Narcissa's lips quirked up as she floated into the room, before the cold pureblood mask slipped over her features as if it had never left. Erasing any signs of joy Draco had managed to bring to her face. The pureblooded ice queen once again, as she faced her husband, who was still unusually docile, but recovered enough to play his part on the platform. "Lucius, my dear, we should get going, don't you think? It would not do to let your associates wait and I've neglected my social duties for far too long."

Righting himself, Lucius drawled, completely unaware of the fact that his two favourite victims had only recently conspired against him. "Well, at least there is one thing we can agree on, dearest wife! Draco..." The Lord of Malfoy Manor directed his wife towards the floo entrance. "Don't embarrass me, boy... I promise you, you would not like the consequences!"

_Merlin, all the threats are getting old really fucking fast._

Floo powder hit the ground. Green flames engulfed them, prompting Draco to breath out a small sigh of relief, before calling out. "Dobby!" As soon as the small elf popped into the room, Draco's school trunk floating in the air at his side, the blond wizard instructed him hurriedly. "I think it is better if you don't accompany us on the platform, Dobby. Father is in a rather foul mood... You remember our discussion this morning, don't you? The third compartment to the right?"

"Yes, Master Draco, Dobby wills put young master's school things in there. Master Draco can trust Dobby." And with another pop the determined house elf had vanished, prompting Draco to grab some of the floo powder himself, not daring to loose another second before he could rejoin his parents at the wizard's entry to the train station.

"Platform 9 3/4."

Wincing almost imperceptibly at the assault off noises and quick impressions that greeted him upon his arrival, the blonde wizard stepped out of the fireplace at King's Cross. Joining up with his parents, whose expressions were already schooled into the kind of cool aloofness that served to remind the rest of the world that a Malfoy was meant to rule above them all. Wordlessly they made their way towards the end of the train, where most Slytherins tended to choose their compartments, the masses parting in front of them.

"Lord Malfoy..."

"Oh Narcissa, what a pleasure..."

"Have you heard of the new law..."

"We haven't seen you in so long!"

Their delayed arrival caused quite the stir amongst their social circle, attracting way more attention than Draco could remember from the original timeline, where Narcissa had not spent the majority of the summer cooped up in the Manor, while nursing her ill son back to health. Seeing all those supposedly 'powerful' witches and wizards flock to them like the moon calfs he had often secretly compared them to, might have been a tad amusing, if their presence had not felt so terribly overwhelming.

It certainly did not help his adjustment that about half of them had been part of the Dark Lords inner circle, faces Draco recognised from many negotiations and in some cases the revels a lot of the Death Eaters had delighted to participate in. Relishing in the screams of their victims, their malice filled expressions burned into his mind forever. Some of them Draco had even killed himself, a 'stray' curse cast in the confusion of battles where friend and foe had been hard to distinguish.

_Well, this year is going to be a blast, no doubt about that!_

While Lucius and Narcissa were basking in the limelight, greeting their entourage with magnanimity, Draco let his gaze wander across the hectic coming and going around him, searching for familiar faces amongst the crowd. In the far end a haggle of redheads announced the arrival of the Weasley clan, an unruly mob of raven hair in their midst. Potter, no doubt. Or Harry rather, even if the Boy Who Lived had not bothered to answer the two letters Draco had sent to him, once Dobby had finally managed to find out his address. However, given that Draco had had the utter misfortune of spending the majority of two days observing the shoddy way Harry's muggle relatives treated their young charge, he was halfway inclined not to take it all too personal.

_Dumbledore, however, is more of a problem than I had initially thought. Leaving Potter in that hellhole is the very epitome of irresponsibility! It's a bloody miracle he hasn't developed into an obscurial, magic haters that they are..._

Two additional scans of his surroundings revealed neither his best friend's dark complexion, nor Granger's bushy hair, which was at least cautiously reassuring.

_Good. If our plan is working according to schedule, Blaise has already managed to convince Granger to join us in our compartment... No idea how he's done it, but chapeau I suppose._

Naturally, most of his prospective housemates were standing closest, Pucey and Flint hovering just a few steps away and assessing him with calculating eyes. Pansy and Daphne were a bit further away, talking in a perfect imitation of their mothers, who were engaged in a quiet conversation. The perfect embodiment of the demure pureblood society witches, eight year old Astoria in a frilly little girl's robe completing the pretty picture. Theo, quiet and removed as ever, kept his head lowered, standing not far from his severe looking father, who in turn had engaged Goyle Sr. in a rather one-sided discussion. Generations of inbreeding had done neither the Crabbes nor the Goyles any favours.

_Salazar, they are all so terribly young._

Never before had the stark discrepancy between the life he had left behind and the reality he now found himself in, been more apparent. None of these people, friend and foe alike, were the same as the ones he had known in the original timeline. All these children, who, in a few short years would fight, bleed and die in a war... Being shaped into murderous weapons, fleeing the country in the dead of the night or betraying their closest friends. All of them the same and yet different.

_How am I supposed to separate the one from the other? To see the people for who they are and not for what they had turned into over the course of the original timeline. To look Theo in the eye and see my childhood friend without the stabbing pain of treachery compromising my judgement?_

At least Adrian Pucey, Draco's predecessor as Slytherin's ruler, had turned out to be a rather pleasant surprise under the Dark Lord's regime. A talented wizard, who had grown and matured into a level headed healer, specialising on the modernised treatment of dark curses. Painfully underrated in a cruel world, which favoured the infliction of wounds much more than the process of erasing them.

Nevertheless, Pucey had come to some renown, rising to head healer at St. Mungo's a promotion Draco had endorsed after finding evidence of his former house mate's backroom dealings. Discreetly distributing healing salves amongst the mistreated populace of war prisoners as well as the systematically oppressed muggleborns. All financed with the quite substantial Pucey fortune and later on, generous donations from a mysterious benefactor.

_And of course the handful of low-ranks I had to obliviate in order to prevent his secret from being revealed. He wasn't exactly the most careful..._

Marcus Flint, though, the utterly inconsequential third cousin of the current Head of House Flint, had ended up killing half his family in pursuit of the title. Not to mention that he had made quite the name of himself, as one of the most ruthless torture master amongst the Dark Lord's forces, second only to Bellatrix herself, compensating his utter lack of magical finesse with brute force. Splintering bones with methodical precision, Draco honestly had not thought him capable of while they had been at school.

_Probably better to keep that in the back of my mind..._

Buildup resentment had not yet boiled over between Pansy and her mother, the engagement agreement, which Hyacinthia Parkinson had so strongly advocated for, damaging their already strained bond beyond repair. Her family's traditional values clashing with Pansy's modernist aspirations to be a self sufficient witch, not condemned to a lifetime of boredom and pretence. Both her and Daphne still had that air of youthful innocence, which their older versions had long lost, causing Draco's heart to constrict with wistfulness, knowing that what was left of their childlike purity would most likely not survive the years that were to come.

_And of course there's Theo..._

Seeing his former friend was perhaps the one reacquaintance that caused Draco the most emotional backlash. For him, less than two moths had passed, even if you generously counted the two weeks Draco had spent in feverish delirium, since one of the people he had believed to be above suspicion had tried to sell their best friend to the Dark Lord. Had intentionally condemned Blaise to a painful death, driven by hatred and jealousy. And now his younger likeness was looking at Draco with a flicker of joy lighting up his eyes. So remarkably different from the hate distorted grimace which had made a quite frequent appearance in some of Draco's more recent nightmares.

_Perhaps, there's some hope left for him yet..._

However, Draco had far more pressing issues than deliberating the chances of preventing Theo's descend into darkness. Namely, dealing with Pucey and Flint in a manner that would establish him as someone, who was, youth and inexperience notwithstanding, more than capable of successfully navigating the intricacies of Slytherin politics. Blaise and Draco had agreed on the importance of building as much influence as possible, within and beyond the borders of Hogwarts, although they were not exactly of one mind regarding the specifics.

_Bloody madness, that plan of his..._

Instead of trying to impress the two older boys as his younger version might have chosen to do, Draco simply raised one of his eyebrows, automatically issuing a silent challenge. Patiently waiting for them to break first in the quaint little power play they would undoubtedly want to engage in. He was younger, at least in body, so theoretically speaking, ranked significantly lower on the house-intern pecking order. Not even sorted yet, although, given his family history the outcome could basically be treated as a foregone conclusion.

_A straight line of Slytherins for at least the last six generations and before that predominantly Slytherin with the occasional outlier in Ravenclaw..._

Nevertheless, blood right and familial power were on his side, giving Draco more than enough confidence in his own advantage... Besides, he was an experienced negotiator, well versed in the kind of verbal sparring games Slytherins loved to engage in and for all their grand posturing, Pucey and Flint were not exactly on the same level as the opponents Draco had been handling over the course of his last life. If one of the older Slytherin's broke the tense silence first, which they definitely would, it would theoretically serve to assert Draco's erstwhile dominance over them. Although, basing his claims on Flint's abilities to catch on to the inherent symbolism, was probably kind of a stretch...

_Unfortunately, not every Slytherin has been gifted with a minimum of perceptiveness..._

"Merry meet, Malfoy." Pucey nodded in acknowledgement, not exactly bowing as would have been the formal way, but Draco had not expected him to. Nothing except the slight twitch in the older boy's throat, betraying his unease with Draco's underhanded handling of their introduction. Flint was looming threateningly at his side, a quiet shadow, for now obviously content to let his friend deal with the annoying first year who was staring at them impassively.

"Merry meet, Pucey. Flint." Draco replied, inclining his head just so and easily affecting an air of entitled arrogance, without allowing himself to drift off into condescension. After everything was said and done, he actually liked Pucey. Flint not so much, but Draco had learned many a thing as a spy under the Dark Lord, and one of the most useful was how to play nice with people whose very presence he found completely and utterly revolting.

Brows furrowing further at the first year's nondescript answer, Pucey stated with a flourish. "Good to see you out and about. My father told me you had quite the summer..."

_Well, that's certainly one way to put it..._

Sunlight caught on the perfectly polished silver badge, pinned to the chest of his elegantly cut robes, proudly proclaiming Pucey's status as part of Hogwart's prefecture. The status symbol serving as a reminder that Adrian Pucey, who was about to start his fifth year, would make a successful bid for the throne of Slytherin this year. Fifteen was generally considered a good age for such an endeavour, especially since the last wearer of the crown, incidentally one of the nephews of Antonin Dolohov, had conveniently graduated the year before. Four years were sufficient times to build up a good reputation, making contestations of the claim far less likely to occur, whilst the remaining three years guaranteed ample opportunity to leave a mark on the House of Salazar Slytherin. To lay the foundation for a lasting legacy.

_Adrian must be desperate to consolidate his power before the rites take their course. He is undeniably intelligent and his family influential enough, but his duelling skills are not exactly up to par. If someone with a halfway decent claim challenges him, he'll most likely loose._

"One could describe it that way, I suppose."

Last time around the ambitious Slytherin had offered Draco a high ranking and more importantly popular position in his court in order to gain his support, a mutually beneficial offer the younger wizard had accepted with pleasure at the time. It had paid off tremendously in the end, allowing him to take over right after the brown haired wizard had left the school. Fourth year, one year younger than his predecessor, even if circumstances had not exactly allowed him much leeway in the utilisation of his newfound power. However, things were different now... The board had changed and drastically at that... For the moment Draco had no reason to rush headfirst into an agreement with Pucey, not when Blaise's crazy idea was still lurking in the back of his mind.

_Regardless of the teeny tiny fact that this has never been done before... And Pucey is by no means the worst option imaginable. Positively moderate, or at least as moderate as any pureblood heir can allow himself to be. Intelligent and most importantly malleable, susceptible to outside influence, provided that the manipulator is experienced enough._

Mustering Draco sharply, an unwilling respect colouring his voice the ambitious prefect, replied cordially. "Anyway, it's shaping up to be quite the year, don't you think? Nott, Parkinson, Greengrass and you, Davis, Grabbe and Goyle too, to a lesser extent, all lined up for our house... A powerful circle if you play you cards right, Malfoy. In a few short years, the school could easily be yours. I am sure I can help you with that."

_There it is..._

Declining the offer was not exactly difficult, however, doing so without throwing Pucey's 'generosity' back in his face. would require some tact. Grinning disarmingly, Draco quipped, quite elegantly avoiding to give a straight answer. "And there I thought Hogwarts was already mine for the taking, what an utter disappointment." A pinch of flattery. "...but of course you'll have a much better understanding than me, Pucey. Between the two of us, you're certainly the more experienced."

Visibly thrown off balance by Draco's sudden change in disposition, Pucey nodded distractedly. "Well, I suppose. Although, I'm sure you'll make a more than worthy addition to our house. You've got all the potential. I could use people like you..." The brown haired teen drifted off, probably remembering the fact that Draco as a first year had no way of knowing about the election, not before his attendance of the first ceremony at the eve of Mabon.

_Gotcha..._

"I take it you intend to be Damian's successor then?" The blond wizard regarded the fifteen year old expectantly, enjoying the disbelief flashing across Pucey's face at hearing a first year, not even a Slytherin yet, talking so casually about one of Slytherin's well-protected secrets. Vows, old as the castle itself prevented any member of their house from sharing the knowledge about the rites and their meaning, exposing the inner workings of their hierarchy to outsiders. As with most vows, there were loopholes in the wording, though, few and far between, but that was a subject for another time.

"Ambitious." Tilting his head, Draco stated thoughtfully. "Nonetheless, I can actually see why you would be a good choice. I'd say there's no good reason for Salazar to reject you as long as there is no other contestant, but then as I've acknowledged earlier, you'll know best. My validation will weigh little beyond my immediate circle.

"How do..."

"You'll find, that I make it my business to know a good many things, when it comes to the future of my house, Pucey. Flint." Ignoring Flint's exasperated grunt and Pucey's flustered expression, Draco nodded at them respectfully, secure in the knowledge that he had made quite the first impression. "Now, if you two would be so kind to excuse me, I haven't seen my friends for quite some time. I am sure you understand that we have a lot of catching up to do."

Not bothering to wait for their response, Draco turned away, determinedly disregarding the feeling of their eyes boring into his back, as he strolled over to Pansy and Daphne. Keeping his expression cool and aloof just as he knew Lucius expected him to do, despite the fact that Pansy's unadulterated excitement proved to be rather infectious. He had almost forgotten what a fire cracker, his former betrothed had been, up until second year even occasionally in public much to her mother's disapproval.

"Draco! Merlin, you've got no idea how much I've missed you."

"Likewise Panse."

Controlling his flinch as Pansy flung herself at him, arms digging into the barely healed scrapes on his back, Draco greeted the two other girls with a winning smile, inwardly laughing heartily at the indignant shriek Lady Parkinson released upon seeing her daughter's lack of decorum.

"Pansy Ariadne Parkinson!"

"Oh mother, you know how terribly worried we've all been for Draco!" Not even bothering to wait for Hyacinthia's response, the young witch grabbed Draco's arm and began to drag him a bit away until they were out of hearing range from the circle of adults, all the while hissing furiously. "Especially since someone hasn't had the basic human decency to meet up with his friends after his recovery. You didn't actually think the two measly letters you sent would be enough? Daphne and I were worried sick, Draco! Ever thought of us, you insensitive prick?"

_Ouch, that actually hurt..._

Raising his arms in surrender, Draco took a step back, narrowly avoiding another playful slap, while he chuckled lightly. "I know, I know, Panse. I should've written more often. But I'd have thought I deserve at least some leniency, what with me almost dying and all that... Mother wanted to make sure I was alright before the school year began." Yes, using his near death experience and his mother as an excuse, was perhaps not the morally sound thing to do, but for Nimue's sake, it was not exactly a secret that Pansy could be rather scary when she was on the war path and Slytherins weren't known for their strict adherence to ethical guidelines, anyway...

"Oh don't start with the bullshit, Draco... Otherwise I'll have to go all Tracy Davis on you and we both know how much you detest her constant fawning. Don't you Drakey Poo?" Batting her eyelashes, Pansy actually gave a quite convincing impression of their prospective housemate, including the high pitched squeal that always stung in his ears.

The poor soul had actually ended up married to the cousin of Augustus Rookwood, not a month after the Battle of Hogwarts and had died two years later giving birth to a daughter, who had followed her mother through the veil hardly more than a week later. Augustus had laughed heartily about her fate, all the while complaining that his cousin seemed downtrodden ever since her death. Loss of wife and daughter chipping away at his already questionable sanity.

Misinterpreting the instant distaste flashing across Draco's features, Pansy snickered teasingly, before lowering her voice considerably. A heavy sigh escaping her mouth. "At least mother would be happy, I guess... She's been insufferable. Talking about securing our engagement all summer, even when your mother's letters made me fear for the worst. Droning on and on about being more affectionate with you, not constantly embarrassing her with my impropriety."

_That's a contradiction if I ever heard one... Pansy is one of the most touchy feely pureblood girls in existence! Being any more affectionate would breach more rules of societal conduct than Lady Parkinson could bear without suffering a heart attack!_

"Well, your mother has never been one for tact, Panse, but I'm honoured to hear how much you care about my wellbeing, even if the prospect of being my future wife doesn't seem to agree with you all that much..." Feigning hurt, Draco placed his hand above his heart, deliberately toning down the self deprecating irony in his voice... Just in case he had miscalculated and Pansy was actually interested in him as a marriageable prospect, if only to appease her mother's near obsession with the subject.

Scrunching up her nose the witch at his side said carelessly. "It's more of a general aversion against having no say at all in the selection of my future husband. Given the alternatives, you are actually not half bad, Draco. Just imagine me with Crabbe, Goyle or even Theo. I'd certainly die an early death... Struck down by excessive boredom." She leaned forward her tone a convincing meld of self absorbance and aristocratic snottiness. "It would be such a shame to deprive the world of my fabulous personality. How ever would you all cope?"

Before Draco could even think of an appropriate response, an energetic voice interrupted their banter. "Gosh, Pansy what's with the theatrics today? Besides, keeping Draco all for yourself isn't fair to the rest of us. We've missed him too, isn't that right Astoria?"

_Daphne!_

Astoria, a sweet, almost angelic girl, golden locks falling down on the puffy arms of her dressrobes, clung to her sisters side as if her life depended on it, causing a small sliver of pride to grow in Draco's chest. After all he had managed to prevent her marriage to one of the Death Eater in their last life. Despite her almost palpable unease, the little witch managed a shy nod in Draco's and Pansy's direction, supporting her sister's claims before burrowing her face even deeper into the softness of Pansy's black Hogwarts robes.

"My apologies, Daphne, Astoria. I didn't want you to feel neglected. Pansy just wanted to scold me in private for my lack of decent correspondence. Think you can forgive me too? Starting my Hogwarts year with not one but two vicious witches planning my demise, doesn't sound like a good idea, now that I think about it..." His joke earned him a smile from the two witches and a quick glance of Astoria as she extricated herself from her sister's side, even if she remained a bit behind, not comfortable enough with facing the group head on.

"It's all water under the bridge... You've survived and I think I am speaking for all of us, when I say that's all that matters!" Giving Pansy a pointed look, who had doubtlessly been about to say something to the opposite effect, Daphne reached for his other arm and linked it with her own. Steering the whole group towards their parents, leaning closer to Draco's ear as she let a hint of mischievousness shine through her demure facade. "Now, let's see if we can't get rid of your 'faithful' bodyguards... I've absolutely no interest in suffering their presence, not when there's so much to talk about. Pansy is right on that account, it has been ages Draco."

_Years, quite literally..._

"Of course I'm right! I always am..."

Smiling lightly at Pansy's protest, the three of them headed to their parents, saying their goodbyes with all the stilted formality, that was common on such occasions. Children acting out a play that had been scripted centuries ago. Any heartfelt sentiments, hidden beneath a thick layer of outward haughtiness and indifference. Reminders to do the family proud, followed by reassurances and more bows and curtsies than anyone could find tolerable in an exchange between parents and their children. Draco's mother held herself with poise, the warmth in her eyes conveying everything that had to remain unsaid.

Once aboard the train, a heated discussion broke out amongst their group regarding seating arrangements, a battle Draco left to the two girls who eventually ended any discussion by claiming one compartment for themselves, Draco and Theo, which left Tracy Davis, Millie Bullstrode, Crabbe and Goyle as part of the second group. A solution that was, perhaps with the exception of Theo, more than acceptable, not that Draco intended to spent much time in the compartment, anyway. Guilt over leaving the girls to their own devices be damned, but he had some urgent business to attend to...

_I'll find a way make it up to them somehow. Let them play with Atalanta or something like that..._

They had barely settled into their compartment, before the train began moving, wheels turning and the steady sound of the old machinery filling the air. Their departure from the station prompting Draco to excuse himself, claiming he had some errands to run and besides, or so he said, he needed to retrieve his luggage from the compartment where Dobby had stored it away.

At first he could virtually see the protest forming on Pansy's lips, who was, even at the tender age of eleven, far too intelligent to buy into his excuse, while Daphne and even Theo were giving a good impression of being only slightly disappointed at their best friend's plan to suddenly disappear on them. Not as if they had already suffered through weeks of sparse correspondence... However, when Draco met Pansy's stormy gaze, silently asking for her understanding, her lips thinned before she waved him off.

"Then go if you must! But you owe us all big time, Draco... Hogwarts is supposed to be our... It's supposed to be different, you know? Of course there'll be expectations that need to be upheld, in public hopefully more so than in private, but we'll have more freedom than at any other time in our life. Promise me you won't forget that."

' _Finding happiness and pleasing your father aren't two mutually exclusive concepts, you know?'_

_'Aren't they, Panse? I'll never be enough. I've never been...'_

_'I...'_

_'Forget it... I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Let's grab a bite... You can give your best Tracy Davis impression and I can pretend that the little scratch from that stupid oversized chicken was dangerously close to ending my life, not the festering remnant of a curse wound father didn't bother to heal properly. What a joy!'_

_'Well, then come on Drakey Poo, wouldn't want to disappoint our fans. Perhaps this time, I actually get Blaise to spit out his dinner.'_

"I won't forget... Dungeon exploration sometime this week? Can't hurt to learn about our new home, can it? Perhaps, I'll convince Atalanta to join us, she's been quite eager to meet all of you!" And before Pansy could bombard him with any questions, Draco stepped out of the door as quickly as possibly, not really caring for his surroundings while he was quickly making his way to the compartment Blaise and he had chosen for their negotiation with Granger.

_A negotiation, which could quite easily end in a duel, given our recent track record..._

Nervousness pooled in Draco's stomach, probably making him less observant than he usually would have been, otherwise he could not rightly explain to himself, how on earth he had managed to run straight into another student about halfway through the train. "Oy, look where you're..." Any comment died in his throat as he looked into the terrified eyes of the first year in front of him. It took him far longer than he would have normally expected to recognise the boy, baby fat and all, chubbiness replacing the war torn gauntness of Neville Longbottom as Draco remembered him.

 _Thankfully_.

Had he looked anymore like his older self, Draco had an uncomfortable feeling that the memories of the other wizard's death would have come crashing down on him. As it was, Longbottom's tortured screams were ringing in his ears and it took him a moment to compose himself, while the chubby boy was scrambling back, fearful blue eyes fixed on the wand Draco held tightly in his grasp. "I am... so...sor... sorry." Only held back by the respect he felt for Longbottom, well, the adult one at least, Draco suppressed an exasperated eye roll and slowly stowed his wand away. Would not exactly be the best way to make reparations by scaring the poor sod senseless.

_Damn, sometimes those reflexes do more harm than good._

"Merry meet. We haven't been introduced, yet, but you are Neville Longbottom, I presume? I'm Draco." No bowing this time and no attempt at shaking hands. Cool politeness was almost more friendliness than Draco could allow himself at this point in time, seeing as he was dealing with the scion of a light affiliated family, one with a blood feud against his aunt no less. Anything else had the potential of compromising his position, but nonetheless he felt like he owed it the remarkable wizard this scared boy would one day become, to treat him with a modicum of respect.

_Doesn't mean it makes his current bumbling in any way more tolerable..._

"I... I know, who... who you are, Malfoy!"

Accusal darkened Longbottom's face and Draco almost growled in frustration. Yes, for Merlins sake, he was all too intimately aware that a good portion of his extended family were murderous bastards. The very worst examples of depravity humanity had to offer, people who got off on torturing innocents and hero worshipped a genocidal maniac, however, at the risk of repeating himself... he was fucking eleven. For all everyone else knew, he had been barely older than a year when Bellatrix had attacked the Longbottom family, a toddler really... Being treated like evil incarnate got tired very fast, especially since he himself had also suffered through years of Bellatrix torture.

"Good." Not knowing what else to say, Draco sidestepped and was already a few steps ahead, when he realised why exactly Longbottom was stumbling through the corridor, notably lacking the chattering company of an exuberant bushy haired witch. Granger. Of course... Without her help, Longbottom was scouring the corridor all on his own and Draco dreaded to think about the reception the Slytherin portion of the train would give the stuttering mess of a first year, he had just encountered. And of course Draco knew what the curly haired brunette would want him to do, even if any friendly interaction with Longbottom was tantamount to social suicide at this point in time...

_Inwardly cursing Granger, for inadvertently turning him into a sentimental mess, Draco concentrated really hard, trying to remember what kind of amphibian companion Longbottom had been searching the last time around. Frog or toad?_

_Accio Longbottom's toad._

It did not take more than a few seconds until the mudcoloured animal landed in Draco's outstretched hand and... Ugh... He honestly could not for the life of him figure out why anyone would go for a toad, when they could have the fluffy majesty that was Atalanta, with her predatory grace and, something he would not be caught dead admitting out loud, adorable cuddliness. But then to each his own, he supposed. Draco was just grateful the blasted thing had not passed Longbottom on its way, saving him the indescribable awkwardness of explaining why he would use a fifth year spell in order to summon the pet toad of a boy, who should be pretty high on his list of undesirables at the moment.

_Not to forget that Longbottom hasn't even mentioned that he was searching for it..._

"Longbottom? This ugly thing yours, perchance?"

_What? Civility has its limits, where cold and slimy things are concerned!_

The toad made a contended sound before jumping out of Draco's hands and towards the young boy.. "Trevor!"

Relief obviously temporarily outweighing his distrust, Longbottom trotted back, not meeting Draco's eyes as he grabbed the muddy brown amphibian with a muttered. "T... thank you, Malfoy."

"Let's just agree to forget it, Longbottom. Slytherins and Gryffindors have little reason to be friendly with each other. Never mind the son of Alice and Frank Longbottom with the nephew of Bellatrix Lestrange." With those words Draco turned away, only half listening to Longbottom's incredulous question that followed him down the corridor, quite convinced that it was not meant for his ears anyway.

"Slytherins and... Gryffindors?"

_Perhaps the truest of them all!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought about... Well, everything ;) There’s a bit much to write it out this time... Perhaps, poor Neville? Think he’ll get to find his courage sooner this time around? On that note, perhaps a little pointer what you think about the way he got treated by his family in canon. I mean as a child it made for a good laugh, but in retrospect it sounds like highly questionable parenting...


	11. Paths intertwined Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the promised conversation between Blaise, Draco and Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> Here's the new chapter with the promised talk between Hermione, Draco and Blaise, though there's quite a lot that still needs to be discussed. There will be a part 3 in two weeks, where they make more plans etc. Also some Harry and Ron action, as well as Hermione meeting some of the Slytherins right before the sorting. If you want me to include something specific, just tell me in the reviews. I can't promise anything but I'm always glad to receive your suggestions.
> 
> I was blown away by your response on the last chapter. My biggest thanks for all the kudos and the wonderful comments regarding Neville.

_Circe, I've really got to stop running into all these lost Gryffindors, who don't think they can live up to their parent's legacy. They are like little puppies really, once you've let them get too close you can't get rid of them._

Same with Harry... Salazar, calling the Boy Who Lived by his given name still left a bloody weird taste in his mouth, though, loath as Draco was to admit it, the name issue had proven surprisingly effective at helping him differentiate between Potter: The self-righteous bundle of teenage angst with a holier than thou attitude and a hero complex of frightening proportions who had eventually ended up committing suicide over the death of his wife and child. And eleven year old Harry, who had turned out to be a surprisingly tolerable kid with a disturbingly shitty home life and not the faintest clue about pretty much anything of importance, at least when it came to magical society and the darkness that would continue to throw his life off balance. Again and again and again.

_Still hard to wrap my head around that one..._

Truth be told, no one, save, maybe, for the Slytherin's battered pride at his lack of observational skills, had forced Draco to investigate Harry's dubious relatives. In fact he had quite deliberately ignored the boy's glaringly obvious disinterest at continuing their acquaintance, after all it would have taken someone deliberately obtuse not to get the message when not one but two letters had been returned unread, their seal still intact. Malfoys did not beg for anything, not ever, one of the more sensible rules of conduct Draco intended to uphold and gaining mini Saint Potter's friendship would most certainly not turn out to be the exception to that rule... Nonetheless, Draco had found himself unable to resist the temptation, had felt compelled to verify the shocking conclusions he had been forced to draw, their conversation at the robe shop repeating in his mind.

_Bloody 'Brave and bold, doesn't really sound like me.' Potter... ugh_

_And now Longbottom..._

Somehow his interactions with the two boys had managed to tug at heartstrings Draco had not even been aware he possessed, perhaps because he could truly understand the pressure of overinflated expectations and the self destructiveness that often went hand in hand with them. Or maybe the thought of disappointing the Gryffindor Princess, acting like the prat she knew, the bigoted bully she expected, felt even more unbearable now that his cousin had managed to give them a second chance at life.

_After killing all of us in the original timeline, but that's way besides the point... Although, I wonder if our actions did not end up catalysing the immediate destruction of that possible future altogether..._

Fact was that after their escape from the Manor he had actually allowed himself to hope... As ludicrous as the prospect sounded, whenever he put it into thought, never mind actual words... that he could prove to Granger just how much he had changed. To show her glimmers of his true self, rather than the mask he presented to the world and earn, if neither respect nor friendship, then at the very least her tolerance, tentative acceptance of the fact that he was not as despicable and disgusting as she believed him to be. Gaining her love had never been in his stars, anyway, Draco had accepted as much long ago...

Whatever his reasons, and they had all been rather selfish in one way or the other, he had still killed Order members, be it in the heat of battle or the calculated environment of a torture chamber. Had seen the light leave Longbottom's eyes and condoned inhumane cruelties by his own lack of interference. Sacrificed the lives of few in order to save the many and yet their blood coated his hands just as thickly, unseeing eyes haunting his restless nights. He had paid the prize for the safety of the people who mattered more than anything to him with the very essence of his soul. Tearing it to shreds with each new death that had been added to his body count, the lives he had saved in the process, never quite outweighing the all-consuming guilt Draco had accumulated after years of weighing the value of human lives against each other.

Salazar knew, he had no foolish delusions about the state of Granger's innocence. They had all been children, tossed into a raging civil war not unlike Severus generation before them. Bloody reality confronting them with choices no one should ever have to face, the kind where neither option was desirable just a little less damning than the other. As Draco had learned very early on the horrors of war did not give anyone the courtesy of distinguishing between dark and light. Right and wrong. Monsters and men. And whoever had been left standing at the end of the nightmare that had been their former lives, had certainly not had the privilege of doing so with a clear conscience.

However, even in war, death, the arguably greatest equaliser of them all, shadowing their footsteps, there were still differences to be found, a wide reaching spectrum of circumstances and the life of a spy, Draco's life in particular, held more potential for damnation than most. Not even saving Blaise's life, one of the few decisions he would never bring himself to regret, was entirely free from the bitter taste of guilt... Shame for not even considering the consequences before he had revealed his true allegiances. Shame for not hesitating to choose his best friend's life, because quite frankly: In the end, his personal loyalties would always outweigh any ideological or even rational arguments.

_Selfish, to the very last... but at the same time that loyalty is perhaps my most redeeming quality... If not my only one._

Even now, when self-preservation should have sent him running for the hills, setting up an unplottable hideout somewhere in the States where not even the Dark Lord would ever reach him, Draco had spent the entirety of his remaining summer scheming and strategising. Planning on deliberately inserting himself into a nasty power-struggle which could quite easily result in his own demise, simply because the former Slytherin knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that nothing would ever dissuade Granger, Luna and to a lesser extent even Severus from partaking in the conflict that was to come... Fleeing the country without them was most definitely not an option, so Draco had already resigned himself to the fact that his future involvement in the war was by no means an option but an irrefutable certainty.

_Might as well go all-in then..._

Draco's rather gloomy train of thought came to a screeching halt once he found himself standing in front of the door to their designated compartment, the windows charmed with glamours against curious students who might come heading down the corridor. If memory served correctly, gossip travelled fast as lightning amongst the student body and a Malfoy talking with a witch of unknown heritage was certain to attract the undesirable attention of their schoolmates.

_Well, here's to the hope that Blaise's 'mystery idea' works out... Being able to publicly associate with Granger could end up making all the difference, the potential romanticism of clandestine meetings notwithstanding._

Casting furtive glances up and down the corridor, Draco took a deep breath, erasing the lingering signs of nervousness from his face and posture. He had spent too much time preparing for this meeting, too many hours brooding over what possible arguments might sway the Gryffindor Princess into believing their sincerity. Giving away that his own interests in her went far beyond a purely goal-oriented partnership would be detrimental to the strictly businesslike atmosphere Draco had decided to go for. Besides, outward composure was something he took no little pride in, misplaced as the notion might be, and he would not... could not... face Granger, while looking like an overly flustered schoolboy.

_Perish the thought!_

Interacting with the former Gryffindor without alerting Blaise to Draco's unfortunate infatuation would already be a challenge in and of itself, awfully perceptive as Draco's Italian friend had turned out to be. Just imagining the mortification, made him feel hot beneath his expensive black robes, the telltale sign of a slight blush spreading across his body...

_Slytherin's resident Death Eater coveting Gryffindor's Golden Girl,_

The whole thing sounded more like the headline of a Witch Weekly article spun of nothing but hot air and half truths. The improbability alone placing it more in the space of myths and legends... A children's fairy tale. Draco really did not need to see Blaise's pity to remind him just how hopeless, not to mention undignified, his state of hapless pining truly was.

_Salazar, get a grip and quit the stalling!_

However, incidetally it was in that very moment, as his hand reached for the handle, that the door slid open, revealing the unmistakable, if disturbingly childlike body of his best mate, proportions tending towards slight lankiness and his features far less refined than Draco was used to. Aristocratic smoothness giving way to a boyish kind of charm that a less knowledgeable observer might have interpreted as carelessness. Nevertheless, Draco could not help but note the new edges in his friends youthful features. Grim hardness and world weariness, so desperately out of place on his sweet-talking jokester of a house mate, seemingly carved permanently on Blaise's face by the horrors of the post war era.

_I suppose it'll take more than two short months to get over Theo's treachery._

_"_ Merlin, mate, I can't tell you how good it is to see your pointy face." Expression brightening Blaise stepped to the side, gesturing invitingly to one of the benches behind him. A satisfied smirk played around his lips, spelling out trouble for all concerned, although right now, at this very moment Draco simply could not bring himself to care. Exchanging correspondence was one thing, but seeing with his own eyes that Blaise had made it through the transfer without any lasting injuries felt far more reassuring. "Well, do come in! We've got plenty to talk about..."

"Well, hello to you too, Blaise!" Draco chuckled wryly, letting the familiarity of their easygoing interaction wash away some of his nervousness. "Granger." He nodded in her direction, while he settled down on the window seat, careful not to let his gaze linger for too long on the witch in front of him.

Quite the hopeless endeavour, given that his eyes were inevitably drawn to the rejuvenated Gryffindor Princess. Tempted to map out all the little similarities to the exuberant girl, who had accompanied Longbottom ten long years ago: Like the adorable whiff of freckles dotting her cheeks, or the distinctive chestnut coloured locks wildly curling down her back. To catalogue the slight differences in her posture, the notable lack of warmth in her mesmerising whiskey-coloured orbs, while the blazing fire of determination was burning coldly in their depths.

_Guess it could have been worse..._

Considering the grief-stricken state Draco had last seen her in, Granger's current commitment to a stoic resolve could quite easily classify as an improvement. Nonetheless, the blond wizard had observed the witch in front of him for far too long, not to be slightly disconcerted by her glaringly obvious attempt at suppressing her emotions. Out of character as such behaviour was, seeing as the muggleborn witch usually wore her heart on her sleeves. Contrary to Draco himself, Granger was not exactly what one would call predisposed for hiding her feelings behind a mask of grim reservation or outward indifference.

_Potter's death must have been hard on her... Of course there's a Harry James Potter in this reality, but as I have seen for myself, he's just a kid. Hardly the same person Granger fought a bloody war with. Besides, she doesn't like you, never has... She's stranded in a time where she doesn't fit in and her only companions are two former Slytherins she most likely trusts only as far as she can throw an angry erumpent._

_"_ Malfoy."

Granger's crystal clear voice was even, neither aggressive nor subdued, just the barest trace of a challenge lighting up her eyes, but however minuscule the change in her demeanour was, Draco still felt warm relief settle in his stomach at the sight of it. There was the much-needed hint of the awe-inspiring Gryffindor Princess he knew and loved, her heart filled with fiery passion and equipped with a razor-sharp wit. Always ready for a verbal sparring, her eyebrows quirked almost imperceptibly, virtually daring him to repeat his invitation from their last encounter.

' _Look, Malfoy...'_

_'Draco. Please.'_

Recalling her uninhibited bewilderment at his suggestion and generally never having been one to pass on an opportunity to fluster his most favourite Gryffindor, the blond Slytherin could not help but rise to the occasion. Besides, Draco would be lying through his teeth if he claimed never to have wondered how his name would roll of Granger's tongue. To finally prove himself worthy of being addressed as something other than her despised enemy.

"It's Draco, Granger... Like the constellation? Bibliophile that you are I'd have thought that the Greco-Roman myths were high up on your list of all-time favourites. After all, Hermione was the daughter of Helen of Troy, was she not? Or did your parents name you after the queen of Sicily? By all measures a highly sophisticated name..." Tilting his head slightly, Draco ignored Granger's state of speechless shock for the time being and sent a knowing smirk in Blaise's general direction, before seemingly changing the subject. "Maman was rather disappointed to hear that the fabled Lady Zabini abandoned her latest conquest, mate. Although, I assume Philipe's family was relieved? Grateful, even?"

_Philipe Dagworth Granger can count himself quite lucky... If Blaise hadn't intervened the poor sod would have wound up dead before year's end._

His friends eyes, already battling disbelief at Draco's cordiality towards the Golden Girl, widened comically at the insinuation before he muttered disbelievingly to himself, unwilling amusement colouring his voice, mingling with the respect Draco knew his friend held for his mother. "Blasted witch... Has been holed up all summer, avoiding everything associated with the circus that is polite society and yet, it's virtually impossible to slip anything by her. Suppose I should've known better than trying to surprise you, Draco... Outsmarting you during your tenure as Slytherin Prince was already bloody difficult, and I can't rightly see how spending five years as a spy at the Dark Lord's court could have hurt matters any..."

_Only if you choose to ignore my rather substantial oversight regarding Theo and you..._

Not allowing the dark thought to show on his face Draco responded teasingly, meeting Granger's shellshocked gaze with raised eyebrows, all the while masking his genuine interest in her reaction with dry humour. "Oh, I sure am... Surprised, that is... I'd have bet a lot of Galleons that she'd have either hexed your balls off at this point or punched you firmly into next week. Neither of which seems to be the case, so you can most definitely colour me impressed!"

"Actually, I've already agreed to Zabini's proposal."

"Pardon?" Only years of hard-learned discipline and impeccable breeding kept Draco from gaping at Granger in confusion. If he had not misjudged Blaise's plans entirely, which was unlikely given his friend's earlier reaction, he had asked the perhaps most prominent muggleborn witch to conceal her blood status from the rest of the world. Allowing her two involuntary Slytherin allies to insinuate a pureblood connection with the Dagworth Granger family, whose members had been forced into silent compliance by blackmail and coercion. Calling the whole idea improbable would have been an exceptionally careful wording.

_More like batshit crazy..._

_"_ I take it you expected me to be incensed at the mere suggestion? Outraged even?" The corners of Granger's mouth lifted into a wry smile, faint amusement twinkling in her eyes, an expression that Draco couldn't help but find highly unsettling. In spite of his secret desire for the Gryffindor witch and the general hopefulness he felt for a future alliance with her, he had still been prepared for the worst.

_Disgust. Hatred. Repulsion, even._

All of that Draco had rightfully expected, but to see the girl he had fancied for the better part of his teenage years, look at him like she would at an tolerated acquaintance, a friend even, caused his heartbeat to spike as heat began to pool in his chest. That she looked so young, the living image of a time which had been rife with possibilities, a time before their diverging paths had been set firmly into stone, did not help matters, either.

_Merlin, I'm doomed!_

_"_ You take a lot of pride in your heritage..." Draco trailed off before the tense silence had the chance to turn into awkwardness, acutely aware of the way Blaise's dark eyes darted speculatively between him and Granger. However, when he saw the brunette's features darkening at his evidently poor wording, he hurried to elaborate. "As well you should, considering that you've dedicated your entire youth to a war, which was partly fought in the name of all muggles and muggleborns." Regarding her between hooded lashes, Draco continued. " So, forgive me, if I find it hard to believe that you'd allow us to call such a fundamental part of yourself into question. On behalf of nothing but our comfort, no less. People you spend a lifetime considering to be your enemy. Why would you trust us with something like that?"

_Why would you trust me?_

_"_ You saved my life... More than once if I'm not severely mistaken... Don't you think such a feat warrants at least a modicum of trust, Draco?" His breath caught, heart stuttering at hearing her say his name with so much ease, nothing like the awkward stiltedness Draco had resigned himself to hear. The casualness, the slightly teasing quality... It was almost too much! More than the blond wizard had allowed himself to hope for, to dream up in his wildest fantasies... Thusly thrown off balance Draco found himself frantically scrambling for words, struggling to form a coherent answer, while his mind was entirely too occupied with the task of committing the exact way Granger had enunciated the two syllables to memory. "I... What do you mean?"

_Salazar, I've got to stop acting like such an idiot! So what if Granger's damn distracting..._

_Keep it together!_

_"_ At the Manor?" A slight frown appeared between her brightly shining eyes, as the former Gryffindor swallowed thickly, gaze darting down to her arm, which were fully covered by her long-sleeved Hogwarts robes.

'Mudblood'

Draco had to bite down the acidic bile rising to the back of his throat, as once more the memories returned with a vengeance, mind consumed by the fear and terror he had felt that fateful day. Heart crushing cries and pleads for mercy chanting in his head over and over again: A steadily rising crescendo of misery, prompting him to squeeze his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to drown out the screams that were tormenting his mind.

"I never got the chance to thank you for that either, did I?"

_Bloody fuck!_

_Of all things..._

_"_ Don't!" Eyes flying open, his face scrunching up into a dark scowl, Draco barely even noticed Blaise's disbelieving snort, as all his attention zoned in on the Gryffindor princess. World narrowing down to the disarmingly genuine expression she had worn before Draco's vehement response had startled her. Gratefulness. Of bloody course... How could she ever...? Why would anyone allow himself to be so open, emotions laid bare for all the world to see. So awfully vulnerable in front of the boy, the man, who had brought her nothing but pain and torment all his life.

_It defies any semblance of logic for Merlin's sake!_

_She hates me!_

_She must hate me!_

_She should hate me!_

He had stood by and watched helplessly as Bellatrix tortured her. Had done nothing as cursed steel sliced through the slightly tanned skin, sloppily carving out the nasty slur Draco himself had used far too often against the muggleborn witch, scars that would last her a lifetime. Numbing spells, discreetly applied while his mad aunt had towered over the petite witch, certainly did not count. Wandless magic had required a lot of his concentration at the time and the helpfulness of his spells in the face of Bella's torture had been all but guaranteed.

_I should have done so much more!_

More than measly spellwork and the legilimentic fortifying of Granger's Occlumency shields. More than sharing her pain, silently willing his aunt to stop, to slow down and desperately trying to keep Granger alive until Dobby could finally come to her rescue. Years of regret burst out of him, fists clenching and unclenching at the mere thought that the remarkable witch in front of him would thank him for the very worst day of his altogether less than pleasant life.

"Just don't, Granger. Don't ever thank me for that! I won't... I can't stand for it... Not when I still haven't apologised for everything I put you through. Whatever you think to owe me, consider it repaid."

He gestured in Blaise's general direction, sorrow gripping his chest with an unyielding fist. "I hurt my best mate... Hit him with the Cruciatus curse and watched him convulse in agony! All of that with a smug smile on my lips. I did it, because it was the only way to save him and because my fucking crazy aunt could've done so much worse than that. And yet..."

Exhaling a sigh, Draco ventured on, ignoring the protest brewing on Blaise's face and turning his face towards the window. Absentmindedly watching the green landscape fly by, never reaching his unseeing eyes. So much for not being obvious about his feelings, Granger might not grasp the significance of his confession but Blaise... Blaise, who had already suspected a woman to be the reason for Draco's change of mind, would know the truth his toneless whisper carried. "Yet, it's your voice I hear in the depth of the night, your screams that steal my sleep, your tear-filled eyes I see whenever I close my own..."

_Your pain piercing my soul because I only ever wanted you to know peace and happiness. To keep you safe from the demons I've never quite been able to escape..._

Leaning forward Draco reached for Granger's Slightly trembling forearm, carefully, almost gently folding up the sleeve of her shirt, exposing the ragged red scar twisting through the flesh, just like he had feared it would. "This..." Encouraged by the way her muscles relaxed under his touch, the blond wizard allowed his hands to linger. Relishing the warmth that vibrated through Granger's skin. Just this once. Nimble finger's tracing the uneven outlines of ripped tissue, so disturbingly similar to the one that was sprawling across his own arm, as he inwardly thanked all the deities he had ever known that the raised mark was not spelling out the cursed insult any longer.

_Small mercies..._

_"_ This scar is my fault. My regret. My burden to carry... And I'll do it, have actually done so for the last few years, but I can't listen to you thanking me for it, Granger. Not when I'm so fucking sorry for everything I've done and everything I failed to do."

"I... That's... You don't... It's gone." She finally choked out shakily, her other arm coming up to cover the blemish, rubbing it distractedly before pulling down her sleeve. "Since the ritual, I mean. It doesn't hurt anymore, so let's just leave it in the past where it belongs..." Reluctantly Draco retracted his hands, unwilling to impose his touch on her any longer. As lovely as Granger's warm skin had felt against his own, her intricate magic humming beneath his fingertips, touching the witch without her expressive permission had been a mistake he did not intend to prolong.

Pain shone in her all too expressive eyes, as she leaned towards him, delicate fingers tightening around his own arm, pulling it towards her with more strength than he would have expected. Automatically, Draco flinched back, causing the slightest hint of hesitation to enter Granger's otherwise quite confident demeanour. However, when he made no move to stop her from proceeding further, she carried on. Her gentle touch leaving a tingling sensation behind, as she pulled the black fabric up his arm, laying his own scar bare in front of her.

Irritated, red zigzag, framed by various hand-shaped bruises, their colour scheme ranging from fresh lilac to a faded yellowish green, marking the places where Lucius had gripped him too tightly throughout the last week. A few thin half moons, the exact size of Lord Malfoy's finger nails, bore witness to the fact that the older wizard had even drawn blood, not that it had come as much of a surprise to Draco.

Healing the bruises at the Manor had been out of the question, not without Lucius' prior approval and the sick bastard enjoyed it way too much to see the remnants of his brutality spreading across Draco's skin. After their altercation on the way to the station the blond wizard had completely forgotten about them, intending to take care of his injuries once they had gotten settled in their respective dormitories. The possibility of having them exposed had never even crossed his mind.

_An oversight I am undoubtedly going to regret..._

_"_ That wasn't... How did..." Granger's confused questions got drowned out by the almost feral growl of his best friend, whose dark eyes bored into Draco with an unusual intensity, waves of impotent rage rolling off the Italian youth. The dark vibrations of his magic serving as a strong reminder that it was not a coincidence that the Zabini family had thrived in Italy since the Age of Emperors. Through eras of bloodshed and vicious intrigues. "Lucius."

"Your father did this to you?" Disbelief warred with horror on the brunette's face, lips parted, as her eyes begged to be contradicted. As if she wished with all her heart that Draco's next words would not confirm that his father delighted in hurting his own son, that this had been Draco's reality all the way throughout their youth.

_Compassionate to a fault._

And all of that outrage just because of a handful of bruises marking his arm, causing Draco to wonder idly, what the Gryffindor Princess would say if she could see the scapped over welts covering the entirety of his back. If she knew of the days his twelve year old self had spent without food in the dungeons, the Crucios and other dark curses Lucius had used to 'harden' him, lest he would disappoint the Dark Lord with his too soft, worthless excuse of a son.

"That's nothing." Snatching his arm out of Granger's limb grip, Draco covered the whole mess with a fluid motion, fixating the witch with cold eyes as he fought for nonchalance, easily hiding behind the too familiar mask of snarky sarcasm. "He killed my mother, Granger. The day of the ritual was the day I finally returned the favour in kind and that's just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. Our relationship isn't exactly the loving type, if you know what I mean..."

"But why would..." It took only another second until sadness flooded Blaise's features, blood draining from his face as he chanced a quick glance in Granger's direction who looked equally shaken. "It didn't begin the summer after second year, did it? By then it had just gotten so much out of hand that you couldn't hide it anymore... And Theo and I were just stupid enough to believe you. Why didn't you say something sooner, mate. We could have..."

Absentmindedly Draco tried to imagine how he would have reacted if Blaise's and his situation had been reversed... If he had discovered such marks marring his friend's lithe body, not left there by an enemy but the one wizard who should have protected him at all cost. Rage coiled within him, searing through his veins with a vengeance, the very thought inciting his temper into an all-consuming fire. One thing was for sure, there would have been hell to pay.

Nonetheless, he barked out a humourless laugh, averting his gaze for fear of seeing the pity enter Granger's face. "Don't say you could have done something, Blaise, we were too young at the time. Hardly in the position of taking on the most influential pureblood Lord in Wizarding Britain. Mother knew, but she was just as helpless as I was. Uncle Sev knew, but he couldn't risk to endanger his position amongst the Death Eaters. I am quite sure even Dumbledore must have had a fairly good idea, considering how often I frequented the infirmary directly after Lucius had visited the school as a governor. Madame Pomfrey lamented the headmaster's lack of support for her complaints on more than one occasion."

"He wouldn't have..." Golden Girl's protest was surprisingly weak, empty, lacking any of the vehemence of utmost conviction Draco would have expected from one of Dumbledore's faithful Order members. As far as he had been able to tell, the level of posthumous regard the headmaster had accumulated went far beyond even the most absurd heights of hero worship. What little critique the old fool's actions had earned prior to his death at the top of the Astronomy Tower, obliterated by the blinding glory of martyrdom.

Amber clashed with stormy grey, Draco's chilling voice turning marginally softer as he asked the witch in front of him. "What Granger? Stand by idly while a child under his care was getting abused by its own father? Watch as a sixteen year old boy, who had gotten branded by a sadistic megalomaniac and chosen for a task that was fated to end in his death, tore himself apart for the better part of a school year. Leave him to his own devices, while his mother's life was held hostage, not once approaching and offering his help, except for a token effort right at the very end? When it was already too little and far too late? Dumbledore has done just that and worse in the name of a prophecy that never came to pass."

_Two scheming masters consumed by their war. Death and destruction will never be far!_

Unbidden the words floated to the forefront of his mind, an uneasy reminder of the confusing dream that had consumed the few nights of Draco's sleep, which were not fraught with blood trenched nightmares. The possibility that the poem was more than the product of his weary mind, perhaps even another prophecy, had crossed his mind way too often to grant him any comfort.

Prophecies were dangerous, their wording vague and unreliable, however, straight out ignoring them was just as foolish as gambling too much on their contents.

_However, that's a problem for another time. I've got a point to make..._

"Sure, I was no prophesied saviour, much less a poster child for Gryffindor bravery, but was my life, my very soul not worth saving? Sixth year I was already channeling information through Luna, spreading word of well-known raid targets, saving lives while my own was hanging in the balance. Potter almost killed me with a curse most Order would classify as dark and got off with a slap on the wrist, but in the eyes of Albus Dumbledore I was the one who was already lost to the Darkness. Not that the old fool treats his promised 'Saviour' any better... Leaving Harry with those horrid muggle relatives of his. Did Golden Boy ever tell you about his home-life, Granger?"

Hurt sparked across the face of the curly haired witch, earning Draco a warning look from Blaise, which the blond acknowledged with a sharp nod. Inwardly reprimanding himself for his callousness, given that Potter's death must still be a terribly sore subject for Granger, barely two months after his suicide.

"Occasionally, I guess..."

Brows furrowed, Granger answered his question cautiously. "He refused to tell me much, though. Barely enough so I could tell that he absolutely hated staying with them. In fact I'm quite sure he'd have been happy to stay at the Burrow all summer, but Dumbledore insisted that it was necessary for Harry's own protection." Switching into lecturing mode, the Gryffindor elaborated in concise senences. "Lily Potter's sacrifice fuels the blood wards around their property, however they revolve around his acceptance of the place as his home. Instead of Leigh lines or life forces, the protection is sustained by Harry's relationship with his aunt, Lily's sister... The wards held until he reached maturity, so that must count for something, I suppose."

_That's not even close to a good reason for leaving the boy with those people..._

"Wards are your specialty, Granger, do I have that right?" Not waiting until Granger could have signaled her assent or expressed her surprise about Draco's knowledge, the blond wizard continued. Remembering the few instances he had had the opportunity to admire her remarkable handiwork, he snuck an appreciative glance her way. "You are good. Healing. Wards. Magical shields. A strong affinty for protective spellwork, if I've ever seen one. The work you did at my aunt Andromeda's place was really one of a kind. Took me several hours just to dismantle the outermost layer and that was after I had spent days systematically tracking her and my young cousin with blood magic. In the end it turned out to be easier to convince my aunt of my good intentions than breaking through your barriers, so I'm prepared to defer to your better judgement."

_Even if I can't imagine that you'd disagree with me once you know the truth!_

Tilting his head, Draco fixed Granger with a piercing stare, willing the Gryffindor Princess to catch on to his line of questioning rather than forcing him to spell it out for her. "Anyway, would you agree that there would have been feasible alternatives to Privet Drive, if let's say Potter's relatives had been neglectful in their duties as the boy's guardians? Hypothetically speaking, of course..."

Blaise stiffened in his seat, obviously already anticipating the worst, while Granger's face lacked the dawning understanding Draco had been hoping for, reciting the names of possible safe houses with ease. "Possibly... I mean even the Burrow was reasonably well protected and Harry loved the Weasleys like family. Then there's Hogwarts of course... Grimmauld place. Andromeda's cottage. All heavily warded against ill-meaning intruders."

_Time to change my approach..._

"Have you ever been to Privet Drive, yourself?"

Visibly thrown off guard by Draco's sudden interest in Potter's muggle home, the muggleborn witch nodded, eyes narrowing at him in a first sign of suspicion.

_Smart girl!_

"Well, I spent there a few hours this summer myself, and quite frankly, if Lucius wasn't a Death Eater and Potter's relatives muggles they'd get along splendidly. They are made from the same cloth, at least when it comes to their diciplinary measures." There, that wording left little doubt regarding the behaviour Draco had had to witness and yet he had kept it deliberately vague, allowing Granger's imagination to fill in the blanks just in case she preferred not to learn every unpleasant detail of her best friend's childhood.

"Are they beating him?" Pausing for a moment, Draco eyed Granger critically who seemed to have abandoned her state of denial in favour of the kind of freezing fury that promised violent retribution for anything the Dursley family might have done to her friend. A sight that prompted a faint flicker of pity to grow within him... Being on Granger's bad side was inevitably a recipe for disaster, Marietta Edgecombe and Rita Skeeter could surely have attested to the Gryffindor's vicious streak where the safety of her friends had been concerned. However the undeserved sentiment was soon enough quenched as Draco recalled the poor physical and emotional state their innocent charge had been in on both occasions that the Slytherin had visited their home. "Sure you want to have all the nasty details, Granger? It's by no means a pleasant tale and if we play our part right this Harry won't have to return there anyway."

_And to be honest I could easily do without having to recount the whole affair..._

"Harry and Luna were all I had towards the end. We were as good as family... I need to know this, Malfoy, please... Please, tell me!" Exchanging a rather worried glance with Blaise, Draco gave in, choosing his following words with great care in an attempt to lessen the devastating blow the Gryffindor Princess was about to receive. As little love as he had held for Potter, there was no denying that Granger had cared for the bloke as if he was her brother. To hear that Golden Boy had been horribly mistreated without her knowledge, had suffered through years of abuse without confiding in her, would inevitably end up hurting her deeply.

_Propably not exactly helping that I am the one, who discovered that something was amiss... I've berated myself for not noticing the signs more than once, and I didn't even bloody like the guy! How would it feel to find out anything like that happened to a friend? Someone like Blaise or Luna?_

"Possibly. Though I didn't actually see anything of the sort... However, going by the level of physical intimidation his uncle employed to keep Harry in line and the way the boy reacted to him... That level of terror is not something I'd expect to see otherwise, so it surely isn't an outlandish conclusion." All colour had drained from the face of the little witch in front of him, as she took in Draco's words, violently blinking away tears as she slumped against the cushions.

Her voice was faint when she asked. "There's more isn't there?"

Hesitatingly, Draco nodded, stormy eyes never leaving the brave girl in front of him as he struggled to keep his voice even, while his heart was aching at seeing her so defeated. Posture deflated as she braced herself for what was to come. "Granger... I want you... No, I need you to tell me when it gets too much for you. You've barely had time to mourn Potter properly and I wouldn't want to cause unnecessary pain."

"Promise..."

_This is a decidedly terrible idea!_

Taking a fortifying breath, Draco ventured on, hiding his own shakiness behind the pureblood mask he wore so well. What he had seen at Potter's childhood home had disturbed him far more deeply than he liked to admit. Not because it had been particularly graphic or anything... Having lived as a Death Eater hardened you quite effectively against that brand of horror... But seeing the young likeness of his former rival reduced to a cowed shell of a person had felt fundamentally wrong. The thought that the original Harry Potter had lived through seven more years of the same treatment, had borne the insufferable indignities with graze and humility, had been festering at the back of his mind, warring with his image of Potter as the universally beloved wannabe saviour Draco had always seen him as.

_Still can't stand the dunderhead but I'd be lying if claimed that there wasn't some begrudging respect._

Deciding that dancing around the subject was getting him nowhere, Draco hurried through the next part of his story, omitting the hours of preparations that had preceded his findings as well as the initial cause of his suspicions in favour of a tightly packed summary of his findings at the ordinary looking muggle home. "Harry's relatives hate magic with a vengeance. They abhor anything even remotely associated with it, calling Potter 'freak' or 'boy' instead of using his real name. From what I've gathered he's required to do most of the chores in the house, almost like their personal house elf. Cooking. Laundry. Gardening. Cleaning. You name it..."

"Salazar, Draco, I didn't realise... Of course I believed you, when you said it was bad... But that is..."

Shooting a knowing look in his best friend's direction, who looked almost as shocked as Draco had felt at the time, the blond wizard continued. "There's a closet beneath the staircase, with an old mattress no one has bothered to clean out... According to Dobby it has Harry's magical signature all over it, indicating that the narrow space functioned as his room until very recently. His new room is better, with a real bed, although it's filled with broken toys from his cousin. All his clothes are hand me downs, fitted to Dudley who's easily thrice his size. The whole thing ends up looking atrocious, but actually helps to conceal how painfully thin Harry is, since they don't give him enough to eat."

"And you left him there? Just like that?" Rearing back from the accusal in her voice, thoughts scattered almost as if Granger had slapped him for a second time, Draco snarked, his voice rising in agitation. He should have known better than to expect anything else. Who cared that Dumbledore had damned Harry to growing up in such a hostile environment, no, of course it was Draco's fault for not intervening immediately on the boy's behalf.

_Bloody Gryffindors. Always jumping to conclusions..._

"Sure, because I'm not capable of feeling compassion, like any other human being... I do have a heart, Granger, contrary to what you might believe! Why do you suppose I visited Potter's sorry excuse of a home in the first place? Sacrificed precious time I could have spent with my mother and my godfather, who I've both had to bury after the Battle of Hogwarts. Do you think I did that for my personal amusement, perchance?" Seeing Granger's chastised expression, mouth agape as she stared at him with a weird mixture of emotions, torn between self righteous indignation and soul crushing sadness, Draco felt the anger draining from his body, tension seeping out of him as he reminded himself of the fact that her overreaction had to be considered rather natural, given the content he had just disclosed to her.

"Look, Granger, as much as I wish it to be otherwise, fact is, neither of us can be seen abducting Gryffindor's Golden Boy. That's exactly the kind of negative attention we should avoid at all cost! Therefore taking him away might require prior planning as well as the support of proper allies. Our strategy going forward, one we hope you'll agree to..." He gestured back and forth between Blaise and himself. "...includes building a solid political platform, but for now, we are kind of limited by the fact that the authorities are not likely to believe the word of three eleven year old kids over the likes of Albus Dumbledore."

Obviously recognising the irrefutable logic behind Draco's reasoning, backed up by Blaise's indistinct noises of approval, Granger sighed defeatedly.

Seeing her so hopeless tugged at the Slytherin's heartstrings, and while his entire being was yearning to hold her in his arms, to spend her comfort in her pain, somehow he doubted such a gesture would be welcomed by the fiery Gryffindor in front of him, which caused him to settle for reassuring her with his words rather than gestures of affection.

"Nonetheless, I saw no reason why I couldn't make the remaining two weeks of his holiday a little more agreeable for him. Accidental magic prior to the first school year is not even monitored, so Dobby and I expanded his shabby room with a few undetectable extension charms, secured it against the muggles and filled the space with transfigured furniture." Affecting a small shudder, Draco quipped. "All reds and gold, quite frankly it's a bloody miracle I didn't turn blind from all the garish Gryffindor colours."

_There you are!_

The beginnings of a smile grazed Granger's features, her face brightening and shoulders relaxing as she regarded him with barely concealed wonder in her eyes. "You actually did all of that for Harry?" Feeling slightly awkward, now that the Gryffindor Princess looked at him with something close to admiration, Draco raked his fingers through his hair. Doing his best to suppress the warmth rushing to his cheeks, threatening to betray the fuzzy feelings Granger's approval had sparked in him. "Well, Dobby helped quite a bit... He even insisted on preparing food baskets that should have easily lasted through the remaining holidays, but yes I guess..."

"That's all good and well for now..." Blaise smuggled a wink in Draco's general direction, making it more than clear that he had most assuredly taken note of his friend's unusual reactions. "However as you said, we should concentrate some of our efforts on getting Potter away from there. Your godfather is out of the question, his general distaste for the boy is rather well documented... Besides, we need someone with enough pull within the Order to deal with the headmaster. McGonagall might work, don't you think?"

Since the Gryffindor Head of House would have been Draco's first choice too he did not hesitate to nod his assent before directing his gaze towards Granger, while he was waiting for her input. However, the Brightest Witch of her Age appeared to be lost in thought, murmuring distractedly, utterly ignorant of having so suddenly become the centre of their attention.

"Circe, of course... Dumbledore... He knows about this, doesn't he? He must know. And yet, he advocated for keeping Harry with those terrible people, forced him to return there year after year. The blood wards can't have been that important, that was just his excuse for isolating him there each summer. Giving out orders to keep him in the dark, at times where Harry would have needed our support more than anything else. But why? Why would Dumbledore weaken Harry, when he believed in Trelawney's prophecy: _'and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives'._ There must have been a reason... _"_

Blaise's eyebrows shot to his hairline just as Draco let out a long-suffering sigh, for Salazar's sake, this whole prophecy business would never stop irritating him. Bad enough that two exceptionally gifted wizards could end up giving two flying fucks about a prophecy uttered by Trelawney of all people, but that everyone just went along with the unreflected madness they had unleashed was truly mystifying. "Trelawney... Wait, wait, wait! You two aren't seriously telling me that Potter's status as the one who has the power to defeat the Dark Lord is based on a prophecy made by our totally mad divinations professor?"

_Couldn't have put it better, mate._

Smirking at his friend's state of confused disbelief, Draco shook his head, all the while raising his hands in surrender. "Don't look at me like that! I could rant about their stupidity all bloody day. And Granger over there, quit Divination quite spectacularly in our third year, so I'm rather hopeful that she hasn't bought into Trelawney's worthless ramblings. To trust the word of a true seer is already a treacherous path, but gambling the fate of our world on a questionable prophecy is an entirely new level of insanity."

"That's..."

Cutting Blaise off, Granger scoffed. "The whole prophecy was obviously bollocks, since Harry died by his own hand and the war had already been lost at that point. Even if he had miraculously managed to destroy Riddle, the rest of the Death Eaters would have always continued what he had started. It takes more than a single strike to erase an entire ideology. That's why the Order lost this war, long before the first curse was fired."

_Well, can't say I disagree on that point._

Grim silence settled over the group, the future they had left behind, casting a dark shadow over their conversation, which was already far more emotionally trying than either of them could have anticipated.

"We'll win this time." It was Draco who broke the spell eventually, his voice carrying far more confidence than he actually felt, causing Granger's and Blaise's doubtful gazes to snap towards him.

"How can you be so sure?"

_Because we have to!_

_"_ Because this time we are going to be prepared!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you think Hermione and Draco will react when they are faced with Ron for the first time in the upcoming chapter?


	12. Paths intertwined Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More scheming and Hermione meets the other Slytherins and the group has a run in with a certain redhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> I know it's been some time since my last update, but life has been rather turbulent over the last few weeks, and I couldn't commit as much time as I wanted to my writing. Nonetheless I truly hope you enjoy this chapter! And of course Happy Valentine's day to all of you! Thanks for all the amazing reviews and kudos I’ve received so far! I truly appreciate your continued commitment and support. Since my last update I’ve actually begun to publish a companion piece, ‘A Mother’s Love’ which focuses on Narcissa’s POV of the events in Eagle Princess. So check it out, if that aspect of the story is of interest to you. 
> 
> All the love,
> 
> Lena

Look, one way or another, all three of us have spent the last decade of our lives at the heart of this war effort, which, while certainly not the most pleasant experience is now an invaluable advantage." There's not much we don't know about the events that led up to the Second Wizarding War, nor the carnage that followed. If there's anyone who can change this world for the better, then it would be us."

_We aren't helpless teenagers any longer. Not doomed to play the pawns in a game that was forced upon us. Either of us could have left Britain already, settled down somewhere, where the wrath of the Dark Lord won't reach us for at least another thirty years, but we are all here, prepared to fight. That must count for something..._

_"_ So what's your plan then? Prevent the Dark Lord from regaining a human form? Or destroy him, once he has managed to do just that?" Barely concealed scepticism lend Granger's words a sharp edge, only softened by the genuine concern shining through her eyes. "You are an exceptional dueller, Draco, I've never seen anything like it, but even you can't ever dream of facing Riddle at the height of his power. Not even Dumbledore was able to destroy him."

_Not every war is won on a battlefield!_

_"_ The day might come when we'll have to face the Dark Lord ourselves, but until we are ready there are many other ways to fight him that don't involve putting ourselves in mortal peril."

Seeing the lingering uncertainties in both their expressions, Draco elaborated with an inward sigh, not really understanding, why, for Salazar's sake, it had apparently fallen to him to reassure his allies of their chances for success. To say that lifting other people's spirits did not come naturally to him, would have been an understatement and a rather shameless one at that... Good grief, most of the time Draco had no idea how to get himself to believe in a brighter future, never mind convince other people of its existence.

_Playing devil's advocate is so much more fun... But alas,..._

_"_ There are several reasons why the Order of the Phoenix lost the Second Wizarding War. Merlin, they'd have lost the first one too, if the 'death' of the Dark Lord hadn't come about so unexpectedly... Mistakes were made, highly consequential mistakes, but with our shared knowledge I'm rather optimistic that we'll find a way to correct them."

Draco's eyes collided with Granger's, breath catching in his throat, before he continued with his assessment, trying his best to keep his grave voice free from accusal or bitterness. None of the Order's shortcomings had been in any capacity Granger's fault. "One is of course Dumbledore's obsession with that blasted prophecy or and not just because of the questionable morality of grooming Potter into believing that the fate of the entire Wizarding World rested on his shoulders. It also made the headmaster blind to the realities of warfare."

_Nimue, someday I'd like to make him pay for that. For letting teenager fight and die in his doomed war... Can you even hold someone responsible for the things he failed to do?_

_"_ Why should he have cared about the politics, the numbers that were involved, the need to develop longtime strategies, when no matter what he did, everything would eventually come down to a showdown between Potter and the Dark Lord anyway? And the Order of the Phoenix, his very own creation, filled with all those Gryffindors whose loyalty he had already secured during their teenage years, when they had been at their most impressionable... Why should they've ever doubted his wisdom? Questioned his leadership? After all the headmaster had already led them to victory once before..."

_Although that had preciously little to do with Dumbledore personally... and everything with the Dark Lord's own unhealthy fixation on Trelwaney's prophecy. Yet another fool..._

_"_ In the meantime all those Death Eaters who had evaded their punishment, Lucius chief amongst them, had used the years after the Dark Lord's disappearance to regroup. Already whispering about the possibility of their master's return, and even if he didn't... Accumulating more power and implementing legislation that would cement their dominance in the Wizarding World, certainly couldn't hurt them, could it? So they spread through the government, ingratiating themselves with generous donations, because if there's anything the old families have in abundance then it would be galleons. And when the Dark Lord returned from his involuntary exile he found his followers prepared, their children raised to stories of his greatness and alienated from the rest of the Hogwarts population." Face twisting unpleasantly, at the reminder of how he had used to look up to a sadistic lunatic with an overinflated sense of self-importance, Draco swallowed heavily. Uncomfortable questions assaulting his mind.

Would he have ever seen the Dark Lord for the monster he was, if it had not been for Granger's demonstrative contradiction of everything Draco had been raised to believe? Would he have ever escaped Lucius' hold over him? Questioned the validity of blood purity? The righteousness of declaring one group of people better than the others?

Or would he have turned into the wizard Lucius had wanted him to be? Hate and resentment consuming the last traces of humanity Draco had fought so hard to preserve? His mask becoming his reality? Instead of loathing the Dark Mark as a symbol of his own enslavement, would he have felt honoured to be chosen? Revelled in the distinguished role his master had chosen for him?

_Possibly... As much as I'd like to think that I'm better than that... Better than playing the mindless sycophant to a mass murdering lunatic._

When he looked back to the Gryffindor Princess, Draco noticed that she was worrying her lower lip between her teeth, almost as if she was waiting for an opening to launch into her counter argument. Realising with a small jolt that complaining to a Gryffindor, specifically one, who had been on the receiving end of his taunts and insults ever since second grade, about the general anti Slytherin sentiment might require some further explanation. His arms raised placatingly, Draco ventured, hoping to make Granger understand where exactly he was coming from.

"Doesn't mean that it doesn't go both ways, Granger... Circe, I still tease Blaise about the fact that the sorting hat wanted to put him into Hufflepuff and pureblood elitism is by no means the most endearing trait, but take for example my meeting with Potter in Diagon Alley. I wasn't down the street before the Groundskeeper cautioned the boy that Malfoy's aren't people he should associate with. Granted, having been the Dark Lord's protege, could be seen as a disqualifying factor, but as far as the rest of the world is concerned I. Am. Eleven. Hardly a feasible threat to the Boy Who Lived. Or our first year? When all of Slytherin thought they would get to celebrate winning the House Cup and then Dumbledore decided to award Gryffindor just enough points to snatch the cup out of our fingertips?"

Unexpectedly Blaise interjected with a roll of his eyes, leaving Draco torn between mild exasperation and gratefulness for having the support of his best friend. "The whole thing seems trivial, now, but at the time it was just another example of Gryffindor favouritism, especially when the whole hall erupted into cheers afterwards. We'd worked just as hard as everyone else to gain those points and I know for a fact that Theo's father was anything but pleased about our loss." Leaning back the Italian wizard shot Draco a surreptitious look before returning his attention to the Golden Girl, who regarded them thoughtfully.

"I suppose I can see how that might've left a false impression..." Then she righted herself, regarding the two wizards with a hint of apprehension, that almost bordered on defensiveness. "Not that the numbers weren't a bit too convenient to be a coincidence, but those points weren't awarded for nothing, you know? Harry faced down Riddle for the first time that year and even getting to that point was hardly an easy feat."

_What the flying fuck?_

_"_ That wasn't common knowledge, I presume?" Granger regarded the two Slytherins, not bothering to conceal her smugness at obviously having managed to surprise them. In the meanwhile both wizards had notable difficulties to rearrange their features into showing nothing but mild interest and not the deep-seated shock her last words had sparked within them.

_Uh..._

_Nope!_

_Like... How on earth?_

_And, perhaps more importantly,... Why?_

When the Golden Girl made no attempts to elaborate further on the figurative bombarda she had just thrown into the conversation, Draco raised his eyebrows expectantly at her, smirking when he saw her shift in discomfort. "Well, do go on Granger, you can't just start a story like that without explaining the details. Besides, it would be bloody well useful to know what to expect this year. If the Dark Lord is coming to Hogwarts we'll have to adjust our strategy accordingly."

"I'll tell you everything..." Granger acquiesced with a nod, the gold flecks dancing mischievously in her mesmerising eyes. "However, first you've got to explain to me what exactly your current strategy entails..."

_How easy would it be to loose myself in them?_

_In her?_

_"_ Want to test my intelligence, Granger?"

"Can you really blame me for being curious, Draco?" Her eyebrows arched up, as she leaned forward and... Merlin, the way his name fell from her lips... It cost Draco a hell of a lot self control not to stare at the Gryffindor Princess like the lovesick fool he had always known himself to be when it came to her. Inexplicably emboldened by the surprisingly cordial atmosphere they had managed to maintain up to that point.

"Until today we've never had anything even remotely resembling a civil conversation. Barely two months ago, before Luna brought you to the hideout, I believed you to be a Death Eater and not just any Death Eater, but the Dark Lord's protege. One of his generals. A master strategist and politician. Deathly on the battlefield and a Legilimens to boot. Talk on the streets was that you were leading the negotiations with France all on your own."

The reminder of his past transgressions washed over him like a bucket of ice water, quickly sobering Draco to the harsh realities... Fact was, Granger had spent a lifetime detesting the very sight of him. Contrary to Draco, whose reasons for concealing his true feelings ranged from self preservation to ensuring her protection, the muggleborn witch had meant every spiteful insult, every uncharitable thought. She might not hate him with the same fervour as she had once, now that she knew about his activities as a spy.

Nonetheless, he could not help but wonder if Granger did not have an ulterior motive for trying her level best to be friendly with him... To see her brush off years of animosity as if they had never existed simply did not sit right with him. Not even Gryffindor's Golden Girl, champion of lost causes and the downtrodden, could be that forgiving!

_She knows Blaise and I are her best chance to win this war._

_But is that all I am to her? Just another weapon?_

_Something that can be used and discarded once it has outlstayed its welcome..._

In a way it was better than the abject loathing Draco had resigned himself to, when Blaise and he had agreed on setting up a meeting. Nevertheless, somehow the very thought made him feel faint, even though it was neither novel nor unexpected. Having Granger's interest was more than he could have ever hoped for, however he wanted said interest to be genuine, not just because the Gryffindor Princess needed to secure his support in the war effort. A difference Draco could have easily detected in any other person, but he was acutely aware that his own infatuation made it rather difficult for him to discern where his own wishful thinking interfered with his better judgement.

_Merlin and Morgana, it was fucking easier to pretend, when she looked at me with nothing but disgust. At least then, I knew for sure that I'd never have a chance. How much more would it hurt to allow myself to hope, just to be rejected? To dream for something more than friendship, when she'll never be mine? When I'll always be haunted by the things I've done, tainted and broken, and never ever worthy of her?_

_"_ By the way I'm sorry for attacking you that night!"

It was her steady voice that snapped him out of his thought process and, Circe, was that a blush blooming on her cheeks? No, that was not possible, was it? Draco blinked once, fully prepared to learn that the slight redness had just been a product of his overactive imagination, however when he opened his eyes again the warm redness had not disappeared from her cheeks. If anything it had grown more pronounced.

"Luna used to talk a lot about you, you know? Her cousin? Completely innocuous statements at first and never something that would have given away his... your identity. Reminiscing about the way his eyes lit up when he talked about Quidditch, the way he liked to take his tea or the muggle literature he liked to read, that sort of thing. How much she loved the silly nickname he had given her, or the way he had comforted her when she had felt like the darkness was consuming her... That he'd go to the end of the world in order to protect her and that she'd give almost anything to have him by her side." Disregarding Blaise's slight guffaw at the mentioning of forbidden literature, Granger trailed off, obviously unsure how to continue her train of thought before breathing in a fortifying breath.

"It felt terribly intimate... To know so much about someone whose identity Luna was not ready to divulge. So when she left after Harry's death, announcing that her cousin had fled from the Death Eaters and would soon join us in our isolation, I was rather anxious. Trying to fit all those facts I had collected over the years into a living, breathing person... The gentleness with which he treated Luna, his protectiveness of her, the notable tendency towards self sacrifice, his strength and magical aptitude. Who could ever hope to live up to something like that?"

_Certainly not me..._

Dreadful understanding settled in Draco's gut as he fought to keep his expression impassive, free from the bitterness flooding his body. Pretend bravado causing his lips to settle into the beginnings of a sardonic smirk. "You were promised the very epitome of wizarding chivalry and got the Dark Lord's protege instead. I can see how that must have been a disappointment, Granger, I really do... And as I recall telling you at the time, there was no harm done..."

"That's not..." Frustration coloured her voice before she broke off, expression turning far removed as she asked. "Do you remember the Battle Draco?"

"I saw you there, you know? Towards the very end of the fighting? You were making your way towards me like a man possessed, duelling with a barely contained fury I had, at least up to that point, never thought you capable of. Somehow you had been different at the Manor... When Bellatrix..." Swallowing thickly Granger sent a quick glance to her wrist, which was innocuously covered by her long sleeved shirt, causing rancid bile to rise to the back of Draco's throat.

"Malfoy Manor, was one of the worst days of my life... and Bellatrix' torture certainly the most excruciating pain I've ever experienced, but it was your humanity, Draco, that kept me grounded. You chose to help me... In spite of our less than pleasant history, our rivalry, the fact that we were on two opposing sides of a war. You risked Bellatrix' ire, possibly even your life and that of your immediate family in order to buy us the necessary time to escape."

_I was bloody terrified. Both times in fact... Watching Bella as she carved that disgusting word into your flesh was more than I thought I could bear and then you bloody reckless Gryffindor didn't flee from Hogwarts with the rest of the Order, not until precious Potter was secured._

_"_ Before then I had believed to know all there was to know about you. Draco Malfoy, the pureblooded Slytherin Prince... Arrogant to a fault, of course. Undeniably intelligent, loath as I was to admit it. Always searching and never finding. Yearning for approval, acceptance and power." Refusing to acknowledge Draco's attempt at contradicting her, Granger continued, voice dripping with self-irony. "It was quite humbling, to be perfectly honest, for sure a memorable lesson on the complexity of morality. Something most of my fellow Order members regrettably never quite learned to appreciate, but I digress."

_That's certainly more awareness of the Order's shortcomings than I had expected._

_"_ When I saw you at the Battle all that humanity had frozen, or so it appeared to me at first, every single movement ruled by nothing but analytical precision. Controlled. Deliberate and focused. Lethal in your ruthlessness. Certainly not on the same level as you are now, but leagues beyond anything I had seen you do at school or even at the Manor. At that time I was rather preoccupied with fighting for my life, but later, after the dust had settled..."

The darkness of unhealed sorrow clouded her face, lips curved into a mournful expression, before she chased them away with a decidedly too self deprecating eye-roll. "With the exception of sixth year, you were my biggest rival at school, never far from my own scores... You don't develop that kind of duelling skills over night and the Draco Malfoy I knew... or rather believed to know... wouldn't have passed up on an opportunity to flaunt his superiority in a subject where I had never gotten quite as proficient as I wanted to be. But you had... The whole thing gave me quite the headache until I had figured out how little I could trust the public persona you had cultivated for so long!"

_No reason to show off your resources before you absolutely have to..._

_"_ Every time I think I've finally managed to figure you out, you turn around and prove me wrong. Death Eater. Spy. Warrior. Strategist. Enemy. Ally. Luna's cousin. The boy who introduced me to prejudice and hatred and the man who saved my life. You are an inherent contradiction, an arithmetic equation I've never managed to solve. There are so many different versions of you, so many puzzle-pieces I just can't quite get to fit together. So please, Draco, humour me?"

_Please, Draco?_

_"_ Just because you asked so nicely, Granger!" Unable to deny the witch's request any longer, Draco leaned back in his seat, allowing himself a teasing quip, before he began his explanation. "One of the first things Blaise and I've already discussed, was wether we should downplay our knowledge in class, since our sudden magical aptitude would otherwise end up turning a lot of heads. All three of us are basically wasted on the curriculum of the first few schoolyears. We could all sit our NEWTS right now, and earn respectable grades throughout."

"The whole thing actually ties into the fundamental question, if we should act from the shadows and thereby minimise the personal risks involved? Walk the way of self preservation? Or if we should establish ourselves publicly as existing forces on the political landscape, which is of course riskier but also promises more of a pay off. There's a power in symbolism that is not to be dismissed."

Smirking sardonically Draco, ventured on, hints of resignation entering his demeanour. "For me it's not really a choice... Being Lucius Malfoy's son is already enough of a guarantee for being in the spotlight. However, Blaise for example has no notable connections in Britain. Same as you, Granger, even if we successfully insinuate a relation to the Dagworth Granger line. They are prestigious enough on the continent to warrant public interactions, but not exactly consequential in Britain's day to day politics. So if you'd rather blend in with the masses, that's well within the realms of possibilities..."

"Possible... But you'd advise against it, wouldn't you?"

_Personally? As someone who just wants to keep you safe?_

_No!_

_"_ Strictly objectively speaking?" _Unfortunately... "_ Yes... Just imagine three first years, with our magical range. The improbability alone... Not even Dumbledore or the Dark Lord can just ignore that, which would help take away some of the attention Potter will suffer just for being the Boy Who Lived and their prophecy child. Besides, the symbolical impact when we eventually reveal that you, the most talented witch to have walked the halls of Hogwarts in centuries, has been a muggleborn all along..."

_Compliment very much intended!_

Inwardly smiling at the slight rosy tinge his words had managed to bring to Granger's cheeks, Draco continued. "Horcrux hunting is a given, especially since we should capitalise on the Dark Lord's weakened state, however, I'd prefer to allocate that particular activity to the holidays where we don't run the risk of alerting the headmaster to our machinations. Researching the time travelling ritual Luna used to bring us back, might pay off in the long run, however, there's a case to be made for being discrete regarding our interest in the topic."

"Never mind the fact that tampering with time is illegal, if either the Dark Lord or Dumbledore was to hear any rumours about our past, they would move heaven and earth to gain the knowledge we carry! Enough reason to warrant Occlumency and duelling lessons. Our minds and magic may have remained on the same level as we are used to, but our bodies are an entirely different story."

"Gaining allies and political influence will be the most challenging part. There's a lot of bad blood between Light and Dark, therefore focusing our efforts on one group in particular would inevitably alienate the other. I was hoping, you Granger could concentrate on the Order members and sympathisers. Challenge their views and their own prejudices. Impress them with your magic and question Dumbledore's uncontested leadership. Sometimes unwelcome truths are more easily believed when they are delivered with the innocence of youth."

Noting Granger's uncertainty, Draco added reassuringly. "For now it would be enough to focus on McGonnagall, we need her as an ally in order to get Potter away from his relatives. Once she has witnessed the way those muggles treat the boy, she'll begin to doubt Dumbledore all on her own. She's wellrespected amongst the rest of the Order members, so others will hopefully follow her example."

Determination lit up Grangers features as she nodded. "I can do that. Minerva always had a certain fondness for me."

"Don't worry, Principessa! You'll do great. And just imagine all those marriage offers, you'll receive once Hogwarts sees how talented you really are... There's no better way to form alliances." Head swivelling towards his friend, who feigned ignorance to the effect his statement had had on the room, Draco exclaimed sharply.

"Blaise!"

_Salazar, mate, you're going to be the death of me!_

_"_ Marriage offers?" Granger sputtered, utmost confusion spreading across her face. "But... I'm not..."

Defeatedly resigning himself to the topic, Draco sighed, all the while glaring daggers at Blaise, who was pretending to study his fingernails with way more interest than they deserved. "You are a pureblood. At least for the time being... An insanely powerful one at that! By Yule you'll have received more offers than you can count. Pureblood brides have been in high demand ever since the first Wizarding War."

_Don't Blaise... Just don't say it..._

_"_ Even Lord Malfoy might consider..."

Before Blaise had the chance to complete the sentence Draco interjected dismissively. "Lucius' opinions won't be of interest for much longer."

"You are going to kill him? Your own father?" Granger was staring at him, her eyes wide with shock, causing Draco to retreat behind his mask of cold disinterest. There were so many things he could have said to justify his plans. How he might have chosen to live beneath Lucius' thumb if it was not for his fear for his mother's wellbeing. How killing the older wizard would free Draco to claim his Lordships and thereby giving them an advantage in the fight that was to come. However, none of that would serve to exonerate him in the eyes of the Gryffindor Princess and maybe it was best to remind her of the man he was. The man who could kill in cold blood and in some cases even without remorse. The man who'd never deserve her.

"Yes." Not wanting to see the disgust spread across her face, Draco averted his eyes. "Anyway, you should be safe from unwanted advances if our alliance is to be public knowledge... Most potential suitors would respect my right to approach you first. As long as you don't accept any clothes or jewellery you'll be fine. Most Gryffindor's don't care about tradition so they wouldn't think of claiming houseright in order to gain your favour."

"Godric, the whole thing sounds so terribly medieval."

Relieved that Granger did not press the subject of Lucius' impending demise Draco chuckled. "That's because it is. Most of our laws are as old as Hogwarts itself. Some even older."

"As I wanted to say before Blaise decided to interrupt us... Our last point involves weakening the Dark Lord's hold over Slytherin as a whole... Blaise and I still don't agree about the specifics, but the general idea is gaining the leadership of the House, either personally or from behind the scenes and influencing them towards a less isolationist mind set. In turn, whoever gets sorted elsewhere should promote inter-house tolerance in the way she or he sees fit." Draco accentuated the last sentence with a pointed look in Blaise's direction, who rolled his eyes, apparently completely unperturbed by the fact, that his friend had guessed his plans for the sorting.

_Bloody Hufflepuff._

_"_ Look, mate..."

Waving him off, Draco sighed. "Theo, I know, I know... Doesn't mean I've got to be thrilled about being stuck all alone in a dorm with Crabbe, Goyle and the young version of the man who tried to kill you. You're way too good to be a Hufflepuff, mate."

Blaise chuckled at that, leaning over to Granger, whose eyes were darting between them uncomprehendingly. "Do keep up, Granger. Theodore Nott Jr., was in our year and maybe the only one who's read more books than you. We had kind of a thing."

' _Kind of a thing'... Well, if that isn't some way to put it!_

_"_ Until he and Lucius hand-delivered me to a meeting of the Dark Lord, Bellatrix and, in quite the lucky twist of fate, Draco over here. Sharing a dorm with Nott for the next seven years is just about the last thing I want to do."

Despite Blaise's lighthearted facade, Draco could see the fresh sense of betrayal flash across his friend's features, before he buried it beneath a resigned smile that did not quite reach his dark eyes. Granger in turn had paled considerably, giving Draco an incredulous look. "And you really think you can sway Slytherin away from the Dark? Many of their families are already loyal to Riddle's cause."

_How astute, Granger._

Unbothered by Granger's palpable scepticism, Draco furrowed his eyebrows, for one because it would be difficult to explain Slytherin house's collective mentality to an outsider and secondly because he himself was still unsure about the concrete aspects of their strategy. It certainly could not hurt to play out both ideas with the Brightest Witch of their Age. "If you really want to discuss the Slytherin strategy, Granger, then we should establish some things in advance."

She nodded almost eagerly, a strange light entering her face as Draco began his explanation. "As you know, most of the Slytherin students are descendants of a more or less prestigious magical family. Sure, there are purebloods who are traditionally in other Houses, the Longbottoms, Potters and Weasleys in Gryffindor, the Bones' and Scamanders in Hufflepuff and the Goldsteins in Ravenclaw. However, valuing ambition and cunning as personality traits, has statistically paid off, placing about twenty of the thirty most influential families in Slytherin."

"The values of those individual families can differ vastly, however, as a general rule of thumb you can assume that all of them have a high sense of loyalty towards their own blood and their family magic. House loyalty is more nuanced and multifaceted. Most of our families are in a constant struggle against each other, trying to obtain as much influence as possible. Marriages are, more often than not, arranged with a political goal in mind and vicious feuds are not uncommon. However, we are very quick to close rank against the other Houses and unquestioningly protect our own against any outside attacks."

"There's a hierarchy we adhere to in questions of importance, not unlike a royal court, which oftentimes reflects the positions of our family. On top is the current Slytherin Prince, a position which is fought out between the autumn equinox and Samhain. The position only becomes vacant when the last Prince graduates and strictly technically speaking there's not even an age limit. Although, the youngest Slytherin Prince ever, was Merlin, who ascended at the beginning of his second year."

Understanding dawned on Granger's features, as she asked with thinly veiled incredulity. "So you and Blaise disagree, whether or not you should claim the title, now? As a bloody first year?"

"There's so much more to it, Principessa! Claiming the title would..."

_Challenge the Dark Lord's claim to the House of his ancestor. And paint a fucking large target on my back, if he really comes to Hogwarts this year._

_"_ Blaise." This time there was no sharpness to Draco's tone, but his friend acquiesced nonetheless, allowing the blond wizard to focus his attention on the muggleborn witch in front of him. "Salazar Slytherin died a thousand years ago. His main bloodline one or two centuries later. Technically speaking, all British Purebloods can trace their blood back to him some way or another, simply because there's been so much inbreeding that we are practically on the brink of extinction. Parseltongue might be one of the more pronounced blood traits but there's a fucking good reason why the Gaunts weren't revered as the second coming of Salazar himself. No self-respecting Slytherin would ever follow the descendants of a line in such disrepair."

"The Dark Lord's claim to the House of Snakes is entirely dependent on his strength as a wizard and even he, only managed to ascend in his third year. If I survived the initiation process as a first year I'd proclaim myself King of Slytherin, directly contesting the Dark Lord's power. Something he would not take kindly to, I assure you."

Meeting Granger's concerned expression, Draco demanded, not bothering to hide the urgency beneath his words. "Which is why you need to tell me now, if the Dark Lord comes to Hogwarts this year, Granger. I don't fancy finding myself at wandpoint, just because I didn't take the necessary precautions when he visited the school."

"He's already at Hogwarts!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I still can't get over the fact that Dumbledore hid the Philosopher's stone in a school full of children. Did he really think the most powerful Dark Wizard of our time would have difficulties to escape Devil's Snare or to fight a troll? The Cerberus and the mirror are the only remotely useful obstacles as far as I can tell and that's being generous."

Draco, who had his own theories in regards to the headmasters motives for the adventure Granger had described to them, just shook his head at his friends exasperated exclamation. Gesturing to the sleeping Gryffindor Princess, Atalanta's silvery fur sprawled across her lap, he said. "We should wake her up. The train will arrive shortly and the Dreamless Sleep should have worn off by now."

"Ah yes. Speaking of your witch..."

_Your witch._

_"_ She's not..."

"She could be. You obviously want her to be" Apparently sensing Draco's lack of conviction, Blaise added. "Look, mate, I'm not saying that she'll immediately fall at your feet or anything like that, but you're not half as bad as you believe yourself to be."

"It's not that easy Blaise." Resignation entered Draco's features as he sighed. "Even if she'd ever consider giving me a chance, which is already anything but guaranteed... I've killed for her, sacrificed the lives of innocents in service of her continued survival. Witnessed torture and pain with her face in my mind. I'm not naive enough to think that we'll win this war without bloodshed and I'll be exactly as ruthless and cold as I need to be in order to keep her alive. Do you really think the Princess of Gryffindor could live with that kind of knowledge? That kind of burden?"

"What I think, Draco, is that you deserve some happiness and if she's the one for you, then you shouldn't give up just like that. Not now that we are trying to build a world where you could actually have a future! Saving Wizarding Britain and all that other Gryffindor hero yada yada is important, no doubt about that, but there are other things worth fighting for. Or do you want to watch on the sidelines whilst she's being courted?"

Face scrunching up, at the very thought of Granger accepting somebody else's favour, Draco drawled. "She might look eleven, but she's a grown woman. I doubt she'd want to court a socially awkward teenage dunderhead."

"That might be true for the boy's in our grade, but Pucey? Diggory? Wood? Give them two more years and they'll even look halfway decent."

"Wood? Isn't he more interested in that overzealous Weasel prefect? You used to complain about his fixation all through third grade."

_In a successful bid for Theo's attention._

_"_ Well,... Yeah you're right!" However before Draco had the opportunity to capitalise on Blaise's concession, his friend added with rising vehemence. "My point still stands! She'll be sought after and you can't scare everyone away with your good name and power. One day... Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but one day she'll want to love, to live, to find happiness and when that day comes and you aren't there, then you risk losing her for good with your awful tendency to overthink everything and everyone!"

Draco's heart twisted at the harsh truth Blaise had delivered with such equanimity. "Do you think I don't know that Blaise? What exactly do you think I've been doing for the last seven years? Watching her run off with those two dimwits, risking her life and tearing her heart apart over idiots who would never ever deserve her? And I couldn't do anything, damned to mock and demean her whenever our paths crossed. There hasn't passed a day where I haven't lost her a little more... But at least she's alive, as safe as she can be and she seems willing to give our alliance a chance! I won't ruin that by pursuing my own selfish interests."

Exhaling a heavy sigh, Blaise countered. "Do what you must. Just... I'm here you know? If you ever want to talk..."

_So not happening..._

_"_ I'll keep that in mind."

This time his lack of enthusiasm simply earned him a playful eye-roll. "No you won't but that's alright, too. Now let's wake up your witch and get out of here... I don't much fancy being late for the boats."

"Right." With a few flicks of his new wand, Draco cleaned up the compartment and shrunk down their luggage to a size that would easily fit into their pockets. In the meantime Blaise was gently prying Granger awake, who woke with a jolt, blinkinng dazedly against the light. Wandarm snapping instantly down to her side, as she struggled to reorientate herself. "Whoa. Principessa, slow down, will you? Just wanted to tell you that we're about to arrive at Hogsmeade station."

It took another second, before recognition entered Granger's eyes and she relaxed, apologising with a slightly sheepish expression. "Sorry about that. Unfortunately I've come to learn that some habits are a bit harder to shake than others."

"Forget..."

"Those reflexes might make the difference between life and death one day. I'd say it's better to keep them for the time being."

Granger's eyebrows flew up at at Draco's offhanded interjection. "Won't that raise some uh... unwanted questions?"

With a shrug he replied. "Not really... Remember those blood feuds we were talking about? A handful of pureblood children had tutors teaching them defensive moves long before their arrival at Hogwarts."

Face contorting into a grimace the muggleborn witch shook her head disapprovingly. "Godric, your Pureblood culture is something I'll never understand. You all think you are so overly civilised, all the while putting your children through combat training, something no self-respecting muggle family in Britain would ever feel the need to do."

"Fair enough." Draco conceded, a faint smile playing around his lips, while he opened the compartment door, gesturing for Granger and Blaise to step into the slowly filling corridor, Atalanta's predatory form following close on their heels. From the corner of his periphery he saw Granger's wand twisting in her fingers, as she silently performed the privacy charm Draco's godfather had developed. It wouldn't keep the onlookers from speculating about the unlikely trio, but at least the three of them could still speak freely, at least for the time being.

"By Salazar I'm certainly not the best example for a carefree childhood. However, there's more to our culture than the hatred and bigotry you've got to experience, Granger. Dumbledore has taken it from the curriculum so I doubt you've ever witnessed the return of the dead on Samhain, shared in Mabon's fruits or felt the steady pull of your family magic... Tapping into that kind of powers because you are in tune with your past, present and future? Because you understand the values of your family and honour the desire that fuelled the work of your ancestors? There's nothing that could ever hope to compare."

Intrigue and an unexpected flash of envy warred on Granger's all too expressive features, telling Draco that he had managed to spike the Gryffindor Princess' curiosity. "You won the Lordship from your father, didn't you?"

"Well, technically it was transferred to me at the end of our fifth year, but yes... The victory in our duel cemented my claim. Unfortunately by then the Malfoy magic was already weakened beyond repair, so I never got to experience its full potential."

_And then I destroyed it for good..._

_"_ I wonder if..." Nodding pensively Granger pondered, only to be interrupted by a high pitched voice that carried down the hallway, causing the brunette to stiffen at his side. "Draco, there you are. Crabbe and Goyle were so disappointed when they heard that you'd already gone ahead, so I thought I'd get you out of here, before we have to suffer... Oh..." Noticing Draco's companions, Pansy stopped dead in her tracks, voice trailing off uncertainly.

_Well, here goes nothing..._

Bowing with a playful grin, Draco stepped towards his friend, and entwined their arms before leading her to his two fellow time travellers. "My saviour, Panse, remind me that I owe you first grabs of the Cauldron Cakes when mother sends her sweets tomorrow." With a courteous gesture towards Blaise and Granger he continued, noting amusedly the way his friend's face had lit up, whilst the Gryffindor Princess had obvious difficulties to hide her surprise at Pansy's excitable demeanour. "May I introduce you to Blaise and... Hermione? Both of them are first years just like us."

_Hermione._

Eyes growing wide at Draco's deliberate use of their first names, the dark haired girl practically fell into a lopsided curtsey, enthusiasm colouring her voice. "Merry meet to both of you." Returning her attention to the blond wizard, she chastised with faux exasperation. "I didn't know you had made friends with the Zabini family, Draco. Are those two the reason why you disappeared on us all of a sudden? You should have known that Daphne and I would have gladly accommodated any new friends of your's in our compartment."

"Merry meet, Pansy." Grinning broadly Blaise interjected apologetically, all the while gently steering the group towards the nearest exit, where the boys stopped to help the girls to climb down the stairs,, earning themselves exaggerated eye-rolls from both witches. "All the secrecy is my fault I'm afraid. You see, I asked Draco to meet me alone so I could introduce him to Hermione in private. She's spent all her youth pretty isolated, so all the societal chitchat doesn't come easily to her."

Once all of them were standing on the platform, students of all ages hustling and bustling around them, Granger finally shook off her temporary silence and lowered herself into the somewhat passable curtsey Draco and Blaise had made her practice earlier. "Merry meet, Pansy. Hermione Granger. It's a true pleasure to make your acquaintance."

_Will wonders ever cease? That sounded almost genuine..._

In true Pansy fashion, the eleven year old witch did not mince any words, as she took a step back, critically eyeing Granger's posture. "That's actually not half bad, Hermione. Quite frankly, not all of us can act as if they've inhaled the entire content of the Advisory on Proper Wizarding Etiquette by Sir Anthony Puddleton, like Draco over here. He regularly makes me feel as if I've been raised in a hovel and there's little that could be farther from the truth."

Hints of a smile lurking around her lips, Granger responded. "Oh, dear Merlin, Pa... Pansy, don't you flatter him! From what I've gathered so far, his overinflated ego might just end up spontaneously combusting and as tempting as that prospect might sound Draco seems actually tolerable enough to keep around."

_Well, that's probably as close to a rousing endorsement as I'll ever come._

_"_ Witty and not afraid to make jabs at Draco's expense. Morgana, I think we'll get along just... Oh sweet Merlin is that cat yours, Hermione? What a darling!" Not bothering to wait for a response Pansy kneeled down, reaching for the silvery grey cat that was rubbing her back against Granger's legs. Unsurprisingly Atalanta was anything but amused by the sudden assault on her peaceful existence. Hissing threateningly at the girl, which caused the eleven year old witch to stumble backwards, landing unceremoniously on her backside a few feet from her group of friends.

"Actually, Panse..." Draco started teasingly, but before he had the chance to complete his sentence or even close the few feet of distance between him and his friend, he heard raucous laughter coming from the haggle of future Gryffindors who were passing by. The nasty sound instantaneously wiping all mirth from Granger's face, who had quickly hurried to Pansy's side, as two figures emerged from the group. Ginger hair, which was glowing in the lantern-light more than enough confirmation of the unpleasant suspicion Granger's violent reaction had already sparked within him.

Red tainted the edges of Draco's vision, anger rising at the sight of the spiteful glee that had spread across the Weasel's face, freckled cheeks contorted into a grimace of sneering contempt. Seeing Theo earlier, after everything that had happened had more than sufficed to set him on edge, but they had been friends once. Close as brothers. Ronald Bilius Weasley had no such ties to commend himself and whatever well-founded resentment Draco felt towards the heir of the Nott fortune, it virtually paled in comparison to the abject hatred that the memory of Weaselbee's treachery unleashed within him.

' _Ah, Draco, do come in. Bella's told me you and my unexpected guest know each other rather well.'_

_'My Lord... Weaselbee?'_

_'Malfoy!'_

_'There's no need for name-calling, Draco. Mr. Weasley, here has shown himself to be surprisingly cooperative.'_

_'Cooperative?'_

_'Useful, Malfoy. Who do you think told your master about Harry's plan to attack Hogwarts?'_

_'Merlin, and just when I thought you couldn't sink any lower...'_

_'Harry is loosing. The Order never stood a chance after Dumbledore's death. And I for my part won't wait around and end up as a cold corpse on a nameless battlefield. Isn't that what you snakes are all about? Self-interest?'_

_'Never knew that was something you aspired to.'_

_'I'm not. I'm just bloody tired of risking my life for a headless fool and an ungrateful know it all bitch.'_

_'Ah yes, Potter's pet mudblood. Once we've caught her she shall be yours to do with as you please, just as you've requested.'_

_'What's Granger done to you now, Weaselbee? Finally seen you for the failure you are? Salazar knows, if she wasn't a worthless mudblood I'd be tempted to commend her for her unexpected demonstration of intelligence.'_

_'Laugh all you like Malfoy, but don't say you've never dreamed of putting her in her place. Make her pay for all those times she's humiliated you. The days at school where she's made you feel worthless and inadequate. Perhaps, if you ask me nicely, I'll even give you a go with her. Watch as she's being touched by the vile, evil, little cockroach she detests so much, that should teach her some fucking humility, don't you think?'_

_'I'm afraid Draco's not one to take pleasures in such arrangements. He's got a rather commendable sense of decorum and honour, which is all the more astounding considering his father's taste for young flesh. Though, I'm sure Lucius'd be happy to oblige you, Mr. Weasley.'_

_'Well, I s'ppose one Malfoy's as good as the other.'_

_"_ Blimey, look at that, Harry. There's our little snake from earlier. Not all that high and mighty now, Parkinson? Though, with a face like that you really've got more resemblance to a pug, now that I think about it." Struggling to her feet, Pansy spat out, voice rising furiously. "Shove off, Weasley. No one here cares what you think, least of all me and my friends. And while you're at it, you can take that ugly rat with you... Unless you want it to end up as our cat's midnight snack. There's a reason why rodents are generally not admitted."

Paleness entered Weasley's face, but rather than admitting defeat, he turned his attention towards Granger, who, as Draco was obviously too late to realise, still crouched at the boy's feet, body shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind. Her frantic breathing completing the symptoms of an onsetting panic attack. "Is that one of your so called 'friends' Parkinson? She doesn't look quite right to me, if you know what I mean? Batshit crazy more like. Hey, you, what's your..."

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you, Weasley." Using the momentary surprise to his advantage Draco manoeuvred himself between Weaselbee and the two girls, trusting Blaise to take care of the mess the boy in front of him had caused. He might have been willing to let things play out, between Pansy and Weasley for fear of letting his temper override his better judgement, but there was no way in hell that he would sit back and watch the little shit tear down Granger in his presence. Capitalising on all the hurt and damage the original Ronald Weasley had inflicted on her during the original timeline.

"What do you care, Malfoy?" There was just the slightest waver in Weaselbee's voice, as he straightened himself in a rather feeble attempt to appear threatening. Blue eyes darkening with the kind of deeprooted loathing Draco had come to expect from most Gryffindors.

_How precious!_

_"_ About you, Weasley? Not in the slightest." Boredom was dripping from Draco's voice, which was, at least in his experience, the most effective way to communicate Weasley's absolute insignificance. Hitting the generally insecure boy exactly where it would hurt him the most. Somewhere at his back he heard Blaise and Pansy talking to Granger in hushed voices as they led her away, allowing him to relax marginally.. "About those two girls you just had to pick on? Well, let's just say that I care more about them than your little rodent brain could ever hope to understand. So I'd advise you, kindly, mind you, to keep your unsolicited opinions to yourself. Especially where it concerns my house and my people, because contrary to you I actually have the necessary skillset to make good on my threats!"

Silence reigned in the small circle of remaining first years that had formed around them, future students of all Houses waiting with baited breath for the redhead's response, whose usually pale complexion had taken on an unflattering shade of red at Draco's calmly issued warning. Wand shaking violently in his fingers.

However, it was Potter who broke the tense quiet, shuffling awkwardly at Weaselbee's side, urging the seething boy quietly. "Come on, Ron. Let's go. We wouldn't want to get into trouble before we've even made it to the school."

Whatever he said seemed to have the desired effect, because the Weasel spit out a last "Blasted Slytherin's!" Before gathering the shambles of his broken pride and stomping off in the direction where the halfgiant had just lead most of the first years. The raven haired boy following a few feet behind, leaving the crowd to dissolve into small groups, talking in hushed whispers.

"Potter. Wait a second." Draco did not know what possessed him to follow the Golden Boy, when in truth he just wanted to check up with Granger and make sure that she'd get the necessary dose of Calming Draught. However, when the other boy turned around to face him, hints of sheepishness shining in his green eyes, Draco finally felt an unexpected wave of disappointment washing over him. He had honestly wanted to believe that Potter would not stand for that kind of behaviour, not even in the people the Chosen One considered to be his friends.

"Draco. I..."

Shaking his head somewhat sadly, Draco contradicted. "That's what my friends call me, Potter, and my friendship's something I've gathered you quite obviously don't much care for." Pausing for a short moment in search of the right words, Draco absentmindedly noted the small twinge of regret he could detect in the younger wizard's features, before exhaling a long-suffering sigh. "Look, no matter what you might've heard, I'm not your enemy, Potter, nor will I ever be. However, there are certain... limitations to my tolerance where the people I care about are concerned. Try not to test them in the future."

Without a second glance Draco whirled around and stalked off towards the two prospective Slytherins, who had stayed behind, obviously observing his interaction with the Potter boy with unconcealed interest. Once he had reached them, the blond haired witch leaned forward, a mirthful glint lighting up her eyes. "Well, never let it be said that Draco Malfoy doesn't know how to make an entrance. I'd be rather surprised if it takes longer than an hour before the whole castle knows about your little stand off with the youngest Weasley boy."

_True enough. I wonder how fast they'll distort the story so that I'll come off as a fledgling Dark Wizard, who was THIS close to cursing Weaselbee with an unforgivable._

_"_ Let them talk, Daphne. They are all more than welcome to their gossip, as long as Weasley has learned his lesson. Theo." Narrowing his eyes almost imperceptibly Draco inquired with rather forced nonchalance, all the while leading his friends down the stone steps, that would lead them down to the dock, following the rest of the student body. They definitely would not miss the boats because Weasley could not control his natural inclination to make an arse of himself. "Where's Granger? I mean Hermione? I should probably make sure she's alright."

"Ah yes, your mysterious damsel in distress."

_Granger a damsel in distress?_

Stifling his laughter at the absolutely outlandish idea, Draco stressed, allowing humour to ease some of the tensions he felt after his confrontation with the redheaded dunderhead. "Salazar, Daphne, just don't ever let her hear you say that. That witch is as far away from a helpless maiden as anyone can be."

"Well, at least for now, I guess, I'll just have to take your word for it." Crossing her arms Daphne shot Draco a quizzical look, the beginnings of a scowl creasing her forehead. "You know, seeing as I've never met nor heard of her before. For being someone you've only just met, you already seem awfully attached to her."

"Daph..."

However, to Draco's and Daphne's collective surprise it was Theo, who interjected knowingly. "Salazar Daphne, let it be. You're just unhappy with the fact that Pansy seems to be so taken with her." Unbothered by Daphne's weak sounds of protests, the young wizard turned to Draco. "Pansy and that Zabini fellow already went ahead with her. They promised to save us all a seat on the last boat, if we just stayed to make sure you wouldn't do anything stupid.

_Blaise promised to save YOU a seat on the same boat? I'll believe it when I see it._

Although he most definitely appreciated his friend's sentiment Draco raised his eyebrows challengingly at his two companions. "Panse and... Merlin, you should really know me better than that. There were so many witnesses. If I ever wanted to see Weasley suffer, you can be bloody well sure that I'll not exact my revenge so publicly."

"I think it was mainly to appease the girl... Hermione, was it? Like in Greek history?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Anyway, she seemed rather worried that you'd loose your temper and, Circe, I don't know, ask Weasley for a wizard's duel or something equally ridiculous. No idea what she thinks you could do to him other than shooting some sparks in his face or insult him in fluent French, but she wouldn't leave until Daphne and I volunteered to wait for you." Shocked by Theo's revelation, Draco felt his heart skip a beat at the thought that Granger had professed such interest in his wellbeing.

_Well, she also thinks you'd loose your temper just because of Weaselbee's stupidity, which is decidedly less flattering! Merlin, I wouldn't have lasted more than five minutes in the Dark Lord's court if I was that easily provoked. Although, in the light of her own rather extreme reaction, her trepidation does sound rather plausible._

Finally they had reached the docks, the yellowish lantern-light of the two boats closest to them dancing over the surface. With a half-mocking bow, Draco gestured towards the two figures that were already winking them over, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a lopsided smirk. "Well, aprez vous, mes amis. Though, it's been good to hear that you've got so much faith into my duelling abilities."

"Exactly as little as I have in my own." Visibly unconvinced, Daphne teased, before adding appreciatively. "Though, my French could evidently use some refinement. My accent's nowhere near as flawless as yours. Spending the whole summer with your mother has done you some good."

"In more ways than you can imagine." Inclining his head in agreement, Draco answered distractedly, attention already focused on the muggleborn witch, who was meeting his searching gaze with an almost apologetic expression.

"I..." However, before Granger had the chance to launch into an inevitable apology, Draco sent her a pointed look, before tilting his head towards the future Slytherin's at his side. Enough of an indication that they should probably postpone their conversation until a later date, one where they weren't in the company of three clueless baby snakes. "You alright Gr... Hermione?"

Fingers tightening in Atalanta's fur, Granger nodded haltingly.

"Panse, you too? Good."

Settling on one of the wooden benches, Draco continued, eyes dancing between Pansy and the Gryffindor Princess. "I've warned Weasley not to bother you again. That should do the trick for the time being, and even if I'm not entirely convinced of the longevity of that solution... I think we shouldn't allow his nastiness impede on our evening. It's our first night at Hogwarts for Salazar's sake!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like the chapter? And yes, Atalanta most definitely adores Hermione! What did you think of Harry’s role in the confrontation between Draco and Ron? 
> 
> I actually went back and forth on the Ron part of this chapter, because Hermione is portrayed rather helplessly, which could be taken as quite the disservice to her usual bravery and strength of character. However, I also wanted to show that she, just as Draco and Blaise, carries the scars of the world she has left behind. There’ll be more than enough badass Hermione in future chapters, what happened with Ron is just a particularly sensitive issue for her. 
> 
> On a more happy note, I’m sooooo excited for the sorting ceremony. Please tell me you are as bumped as I am. What do you want to see the most? One review already asked for a description of Dumbledore’s face when Harry gets sorted into Slytherin and I’m sooooo doing that. It’s going to be hysterical!


	13. Order out of Chaos Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, usually I’d write out a summary at this point but since I don’t want to give too much away.
> 
> LET THE SORTING BEGIN!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovelies!
> 
> Let’s start with a HUUUUUGE THANK YOU to everyone who commented on the last chapter. (To the people who left Kudos, and or subscribed I love you too) But the comments this time around just wow! I had the most amazing discussions, and conversations and I would be lying if I said your response wasn’t a huge motivator to get this chapter done so quickly.
> 
> I hope it lives up to your expectations!
> 
> This time around I’ll discuss the content in the Author’s note at the end of the chapter and include some of my reasoning for the choices I made for the characters. As for the Cliffhanger... Rest assured there will be some explanations in the next chapter ;)
> 
> I don’t own Harry Potter, unfortunately... But I’ve used some of the original dialogue this time (Prof McGonagall addressing the students)

“Godric, you must think me so silly."

Granger's hushed voice barely carried across the crescendo of forty chattering eleven year olds making their way up the stairs that led from the boathouse to the castle, which throned majestically in front of them. A sight which still send piercing stabs of guilt right through his heart. Elation, juxtaposed with the memories of destruction, blood and his mother's frozen face as she was enveloped in green light, dead before her body even hit the ground. Just a few steps ahead of them was Blaise, quite evidently regaling Pansy with an anecdote based on his rather colourful family history, whilst Theo who had ended up as Daphne's companion walked in his typical cloud of pensive silence.

Unsurprisingly, Draco had Blaise to thank for their unusual walking arrangements, who had latched onto Pansy, as soon as the group had stepped off the boats, studiously ignoring his friend's less than enthused expression. Being so close to Granger, her delicate arm resting in his, certainly did not help to curb his unfortunate infatuation. Even less after he had caught the faint fragrance of lilacs on the sole occasion where the Gryffindor Princess had stumbled a bit, forcing him to lean in closer in order to steady her. Combined with the overwhelming maelstrom of emotions that had hit him at the sight of the castle... Well, suffice to say that Draco had been quite content with their mutual commitment to silence, until Granger had so inadvertently interrupted his thoughts.

With a quizzical look at her decidedly too sheepish expression, Draco felt his eyebrows furrowing slightly, betraying his current state of confusion.

_Muffliato_.

"I wouldn't know that I do, no..."

Exhaling a shaky sigh, Granger ventured quietly, red spots of frustration blooming on her cheeks. "I've fought a war. Survived torture and ridden on a bloody dragon. No one, least of all an eleven year old Ronald Weasley should..." She broke off, her prior agitation replaced by defeat, as her arm twitched anxiously in his hold. "What use am I to you if a child has the power to send me into hysterics? I should be stronger than that. I've got to be stronger than that!"

_What use she is to me?_

_Salazar, she can't actually be that thick, can she?_

_"_ Granger, do me a favour, will you?" Having settled on a strategy to illustrate the utter idiocy of her question to the witch at his side, Draco inched even closer towards the muggleborn and gestured surreptitiously to the group that was walking ahead of them, the silvery shadow of a cat jumping playfully around them. Much to Daphne's and Pansy's shared delight, who regularly broke out into coos at Atalanta's antics. "Look at Blaise... Really look at him. And no, I certainly don't want you to focus on the impossible amount of charm he's exuding or those overstated gestures most Italians are so fond of. You've got to see below the surface. Deeper than the things he wants you to see..."

"I don't understand what that... Oh...Ohh" Comprehension began to dawn on Granger's features, her amber eyes widening as she slowed her steps just a fraction. Gaze snapping in Draco's direction as she questioned concernedly. "The boy in front of him is Theodore Nott, isn't he? The one who betrayed him."

"The one who was happy to see his would-be fiancé tortured to death, yes, the very same..." Ignoring his companion's faint gasp at his blunt commentary, Draco continued unperturbed, pale eyebrows rising up challengingly. "Tell me, Granger... Do you really think Blaise is usually so obvious with his emotions? Enough to allow you... A Gryffindor with, by all due respect, only marginally developed observational skills, to discern the underlying cause for his discomfort?"

"Granted, he was never exceptionally subtle for a Slytherin, but you can't make it through seven years in a snake pit without picking up a thing or two. Merlin, he's so hopelessly out of sorts that even Pansy has begun to notice that something is off. Although, it seems she can't quite put her finger on the cause of Blaise's jumpiness."

"No... But... The wound is so fresh... I mean, I can't even imagine how much Nott must have hurt him with his betrayal. You can't seriously blame Blaise for being out of sorts. It's just to be expected with a history like that." Smiling inwardly at the resolute indignation which instantly sharpened Granger's voice at his supposed insult to the Italian wizard, Draco chuckled wryly before he reassured her.

"My point exactly... Trust me, I've seen Blaise face down the Dark Lord and Bellatrix without batting an eyelash, showing as much bravery as any Gryffindor I've ever known. He saved tens, perhaps even hundreds of muggleborn children from the Death Eaters. Smuggled war prisoners out of the country and provided the French resistance with potion ingredients and money. There's not a single one of my friends whom I'd rather have at my side."

Averting his gaze somewhat shyly, Draco elaborated, fighting to suppress the waver in his voice that might have given away his discomfort with the topic. Praising the witch you had wanted for the better part of your life without letting her see the effect she had on you, was rather challenging. "Why shouldn't the very same metrics apply to you, Granger? Potter, surely, wouldn't have made it as far as he did without you. Everyone knows that you were the brains... Even more so, the compassion behind the Golden Trio. I'd be the biggest fool in existence if I did not recognise your worth just because Weaselbee Jr. gives you the creeps."

Pausing for a second, Draco gazed thoughtfully up at the castle that was even more impressive now that they had reached the top of the hillside, mourning the sense of comfort he had always associated with the sight. "One day, Granger, we'll hopefully have learned how to live with the scars of our past, but I fear until then we'll just have to carry on and hope for the best."

"Then why do you still keep doing that?"

"I don't understand?"

The petite witch flushed under his scrutiny, before straightening her shoulders, stubbornly staring ahead at the mass of students slowly assembling in front of the castle's entrance. Hagrid's massive form towering in front of them. "If you really think that highly of me, Draco, then why do you keep calling me Granger when we are in private? You only use Hermione in front of your friends, and that's in order to convince them that I'm some kind of sheltered pureblood heiress."

"I didn't want to presume..." Seeing her less than convinced expression Draco, trailed off, his arm tightening around her own. "No, listen Granger... Hermione. You've got to understand that when I boarded the Hogwarts Express today, I was still very much under the impression that given the choice you'd prefer to get my head presented on a silver platter rather than bear my presence. The way I treated you during our time at school and only Salazar knows what you've heard about my time as a Death Eater! My hopes that you'd even listen to me were rather low, those that you'd agree to an alliance virtually nonexistent. Forgive me, if I consider talking with you like this to be..."

_A dream I never dared to dream?_

_A bloody miracle?_

_Certifiably insane?_

_"..._ Entirely unexpected." Giving her no time to utter the contradiction he could see brewing in her face, Draco told her evenly, willing the muggleborn to understand. "It wouldn't have been proper to impose any familiarity on you without your expressed consent. Well, outside of the charade Blaise and I have you perform, that is. Being on a first name basis implies a certain level of trust."

Searching for a good example, his eyes fell on the two large boys, standing out in the mass of first years that had begun to assemble on the lawn.

"Take Crabbe and Goyle for example. All of us, Theo, Pansy, Daphne and I, have known them through our parents for almost ten years, so theoretically we should have done away with the formality a long time ago. However, all of us are well aware that their loyalty is to themselves and their parents before anyone else. Which... is not exactly unusual in and of itself but they aren't smart enough to be subtle about it. Lucius often punished me for things I did in their presence, while simultaneously urging me to spend more time with them. It didn't take me long to get the message."

Face darkening dangerously, Granger muttered not without disgust. "Your father is a coldhearted bastard."

_My sentiments exactly._

_"_ The very worst humanity has to offer." Draco agreed easily and the unlikely pair settled into a comfortable silence.

It was the muggleborn who broke it again. "So you simply wanted an invitation?" She teased, mirth dancing freely in her eyes and mingling with a rather surprising note of relief.

"Call me old-fashioned, if you want..." The Malfoy heir shrugged lightheartedly, although his thoughts were already returning to his mother, who would be all alone in Malfoy Manor. Helplessly exposed to Lucius' more violent inclinations and before he could stop himself he added. "In my world, or better... in pureblood society in general, a witch oftentimes has little more than societal conventions to fall back on in case she feels... uncomfortable with a man's advances. As long as the restrictions of politesse are the only thing that stands between a woman and violation, I'd say it should be in all our interest to uphold them."

"You..." For a moment Granger just gaped at him as if she had never quite seen him before, however, right when she had collected herself enough to issue a response, the door swung suddenly open, revealing the stern features of Minerva McGonagall, flickering torch light highlighting the silver strands that ran through her jet black hair.

_Emerald robes, too. Seems as if our inter-house unity project is already off to a good start._

_"_ The firs' years, Professor McGonagall."

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here."

Not bothering with any further explanation the Transfiguration Professor pulled the door wide open allowing the haggle of students to follow her into the entrance hall until they were standing in front of the half open doors to the Great Hall, the large marble staircase rising up behind them. About halfway into the room Draco felt Granger stiffen, eyes glued to the back of her favourite teacher, prompting him to squeeze her hand reassuringly, as he lowly whispered into her ear.

"That's why we're here, Hermione. To make sure that people like her won't die in a senseless war! She'll survive this time. All of them will." Then he led her a bit further to the right, rejoining the circle of future Slytherins. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at the speculative amusement he could see flashing across Blaise's face at seeing their still firmly entwined arms.

_Not as if he has orchestrated the entire situation or anything..._

Somewhere behind the Italian wizard, Daphne and Pansy were amusing themselves with Atalanta, to the apparent envy of Bulstrode and Tracy Davis. Even Crabbe and Goyle had found their way to the group, standing closely to Theo, who looked distinctly uncomfortable with the entire arrangement.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." The entire group of first year students grew silent as Professor McGonagall began to speak, her quiet authority putting an end to all the awkward shuffling and nervous chattering around them. "Soon you will all join the rest of the student-body for the start-of-term banquet. However, before you can take your seats in the Great Hall, each and everyone of you must undergo the Sorting, an ancient ceremony through which we will determine your future House. During your time at our school, you and your respective housemates will share the same classes, a common room where you may spend your free time, and of course your dormitories."

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours." For a second her gaze lingered on the fiery Weasley hair, Potter's untameable mess, and finally the unmistakable platinum shade of the Malfoy family.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you." With a last imploring look at the students the witch stepped away, entering the Great Hall through one of the large oak doors. "Please wait quietly."

The door had not yet closed behind McGonagall, before the crowd once again broke down into smaller groups. Anxious discussions about the Sorting ceremony floating through the air, which caused the three time-travellers to exchange a series of surreptitious glances. Inadvertently amused at the nervous antics of their year mates.

_Fighting a troll..._

_Who comes up with these stories? Or better, who actually believes them?_

Suddenly Draco felt a tug at his arm, alerting him to the fact that Daphne was trying to drag Granger around a corner, already dismissing him with an impatient wave. "Go along, Draco... Hermione and I have got important women issues to discuss together."

Raising his hands in surrender, the blond wizard drawled, ignoring the silent plea on Granger's face. "Merlin, forbid, you'd just bore me to death, Daphne. She's all yours." And with a last wink in the direction of a furiously glaring Granger, he stalked off. Joining up with Blaise, who was contentedly observing the madness unfolding in front of him, as the translucently glowing ghosts began to mingle amongst the eleven year olds. Eliciting both frightened and excited reactions from their youthful audience.

"Hermione?"

"Daphne has her. I presume Pansy has been rather busy?"

"Yeah, she's quite smitten with your girl. Asked about a thousand questions about her. Daphne was more sceptical at first, but as it seems she's more than willing to give Hermione a chance if it makes Panse and you happy. Otherwise she surely wouldn't have cared that her hair has been a mess ever since that altercation with Weaselbee."

_I rather like it that way!_

Unwilling to share that particular train of thought with his friend, Draco remarked offhandedly, eyes darting to the group where Potter and Weasley were standing close together, the Chosen One's face filled with insecurity. "Let's just hope that they're finished before McGonagall comes back. Something tells me a botched Sorting ceremony is not exactly the best way into her good graces."

_Perhaps we should have found a way to intercept Potter on the train, keeping him away from Ronald Weasley's sphere of influence. But then it really wouldn't have mattered all that much since they are going to be housemates anyway. Besides, he's made his disinterest in a friendship rather obvious. Granger will have it much easier, them being sorted into the same house and all!_

Thankfully Draco's concerns turned out to be unfounded, seeing as the two girls returned just in time to see the group of ghosts float away at the command of the Transfiguration Professor. Faces flushed from finishing their task in such a hurry, although Granger looked much more content than Draco had expected, quite evidently not entirely opposed to the deliberately messy waterfall braid Daphne had used to tame her unruly locks.

"Now, form a line and follow me."

Getting into line besides Granger, Blaise following right behind with Daphne, Draco breathed out, keeping his eyes firmly on the back of the two future Ravenclaw students in front of him, whilst they marched through the Great Hall. However, they had not even walked half the distance, before he eventually caved and sent a sideways glance in her direction, unable not to comment on the change. "It suits you. The hair, I mean."

_Such eloquence..._

There was a high chance that it was once again just his overactive imagination, but Draco thought he might have seen a slight smile curving her lips. Afterwards she let her eyes rise to the enchanted ceiling of the great hall, nostalgically admiring the charmed ceiling in all its glory, her beautiful face illuminated by the thousands of candles that were floating around them, before she quipped. "That's your grand apology for leaving me to the proverbial vulture? I thought you'd do much better than that."

"Oi, Hermione, I resent that."

Unbothered by Daphne's muffled protest Granger tilted her head towards him, molten gold flecks swimming in her whiskey coloured irises, as she whispered half-jokingly. "However, I think I might forgive you just this once, Draco. All things considered it wasn't a total disaster. Although, if you really wanted to make amends, you could always consider dropping that Granger nonsense. I'd like to think that we are beyond such formalities at this point."

By the end of her surprising statement the group had come to a halt right in front of the stool with the Sorting Hat, hundreds of eyes burning into their backs, the air filled with an undeniable sense of eager anticipation. Swallowing thickly, Draco conceded in a hushed whisper, all the while struggling to figure out why the Gryffindor Princess had decided to converse with him so candidly. Acting as if they were the best of friends not tentative allies brought together by necessity.

_Not that I mind it._

_"_ It'll be my pleasure... Hermione."

Just in that moment the frayed piece of fabric in front of them came to live, transforming into the well known features of the Sorting Hat, who grinned down at the group of first years, most of whom were displaying various states of surprise. Bowing once in their general direction, it began to sing, voice booming through the Great Hall.

_A thousand years or more ago_

_Four friends were once united_

_Until strife and jealousy_

_Them at last divided_

_Before their friendship broke apart_

_They gave me life and thought!_

_To choose for them, for centuries_

_The students of their heart:_

_In Gryffindor, where Lions roar_

_The brave shall find their home,_

_For Daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Are values of their own!_

_In Ravenclaw, where Eagles fly_

_Their wits soar through the air!_

_Rowena's wisdom guides their way,_

_The smart amongst you stay!_

_In Hufflepuff, where Badger's play_

_Are friends whom you can trust,_

_For Helga welcomes any day_

_The loyal and the just._

_In Slytherin, where Snakes do rule_

_They will protect you best!_

_Ambition and great cunning_

_Wins out against the rest._

_Every year my song I sing_

_So let the sorting now begin._

The last pair of rhymes had barely left the hat's mouth when all the students and teachers burst into applause, whilst Draco, Hermione and Blaise exchanged rather worried glances. Blaise was the first one who spoke up, eyes quizzically fixed at the Sorting hat. "Tell me that you were also blindsided by the song choice."

Nodding, Granger nervously bit into her lower lip. "That was...

"Different." Draco completed the sentence, an uncomfortable sense of foreboding spreading through his body as his mind struggled to work through the implications. Was it simply an oddity caused by the powerful magic Luna had called upon to perform the ritual? Or had the timeline already changed enough to influence a powerful magical artefact?

Both possibilities were perfectly viable, even if Draco had difficulties to see which of their actions might have prompted the change. As far as he was concerned most of his deviations from the original timeline, perhaps with the exception of getting the cherry wand at Mr. Ollivander's, had been rather personal in nature. For sure nothing fundamental that might have impacted the Sorting Hat, right?

_Well, this is less than ideal..._

Pushing the thought aside, because for now there was precious little he could do to solve that particular puzzle, Draco let his gaze roam across the High Table. Registering all the familiar faces with an indeterminate sense of guilt, whilst McGonagall stepped forward, announcing the first name on her list as "Abbot, Hannah." So many of them had given their life in the Battle of Hogwarts, regarding the protection of their students as their highest duty.

Septima Vektor, Aurora Sinistra and Bathsheba Babbling the three old friends had held out against a superior number of Death Eaters, trying to lead a group of muggleborns through one of the secret passageways, when a curse had hit the Ancient Runes teacher straight in the chest. Unwilling to abandon her friend Sinistra, who would have originally been protected by her pureblood status, stayed back, sacrificing her own life in order to buy Vektor precious minutes to bring the students to safety.

_Which she did... But, Merlin, that woman was heartbroken when I traded her with Rookwood two years later. At least I got her out of that man's clutches._

Hagrid had gotten captured and died about three months later in the 'care' of Bellatrix. Getting her to leave a toy once she had gotten her claws into it was virtually impossible. Flitwick had cursed Rodolfus Lestrange, before succumbing to his own curse wounds which he had received whilst protecting Ronald Weasley of all people. A waste of life that stung all the more in retrospect, considering Weasley's true allegiance. Pomona Sprout had fought valiantly until she had gotten crushed beneath the heavy stones of the Great Hall.

Even the Professors who had escaped like Slughorn and McGonagall did not live to see the end of the war, the former was found lifelessly in the potion cabinet the Dark Lord maintained for him, quite evidently having committed suicide and McGonagall was ambushed two years after the Battle. Going out in a blaze of glory and killing Rookwood and Alecto Carrow before Amycus got in a hit, driven insane by his sister's death, who many had believed to be his lover.

_So many lives lost and all because of two wizards who are rather ironically seated at the very same table as the men and women who'd become the victims of their scheming._

_"_ Bones, Susan." Also went to Hufflepuff, temporarily distracting Draco by dredging up the memory of a mutilated body, deep gashes and werewolf bites marring deathly pale skin. In the original timeline Bones had been more dead than alive, when Draco had last seen her, torn apart and then discarded.

_Greyback's all too delightful handiwork. Salazar, we still need a strategy for all the Dark creatures. Werewolves, vampires and giants can do a world of harm and leaving all of them to the Dark Lord would be a grave mistake!_

There had not been all that much that Draco had been able to do for her, sorely lacking both time and the necessary resources to take care of a potentially newly turned werewolf. However he had applied some Dittany to the wounds and fed her blood replenishing potion. Standard treatment which had hopefully kept her from dying long enough until the neutral werewolf pack had found her. Lying in the woods close to their campsite, where Draco had left the witch with a stash of wolfsbane at her side.

_Not even the standing of the rather influential Bones family was strong enough to protect her._

Scalding hot anger coursed through Draco's veins, eyes inevitably drawn to the unassuming wizard at his godfather's side, whose purplish blue turban he now knew to hold the spirit of the wizard that had been directly responsible for the world of destruction they had left behind. All that death and suffering, pain and heartbreak, just in order to satisfy the Dark Lord's insatiable thirst for power.

_Of course aided by Dumbledore's incompetence..._

Suddenly Quirrell turned his head just a bit, meeting Draco's impassive features with a well concealed flicker of curiosity, before he returned to watching Millicent Bulstrode's sorting. Their short moment of eye contact being enough to sent a searing stab of pain through his left arm, heat twisting beneath his skin, almost as if the remnants of the Dark Mark were responding to the master it had once served. More out of surprise than anything else, the blond wizard let out a low hiss, fingers flexing to curb the urge of clutching the arm to his side which would have drawn unwanted attention to his distress.

_Does Severus feel it too? And if he does, why wouldn't he act on it? Expose Quirrell for the pretender he is?_

_"_ Draco? Are you quite alright?"

It was Hermione's concerned voice that snapped Draco out of his musings, thankfully early enough to prevent the deceitful Defense against the Dark Arts teacher from taking note of his rather suspicious behaviour. Catching Blaise's calculating gaze, he explained, careful to keep his wording vague enough not to rouse Daphne, Pansy and Theo's suspicions. "Some unexpected aftereffects of the fever I had this summer." To illustrate his point, he rubbed across the fabric on his left arm, where both of his fellow timetravellers knew his scar to be.

_Well, together with Lucius's less permanent marks._

_"_ Crabbe, Vincent."

Lips thinning in annoyance the petite witch threw a surreptitious glare in Quirrel's direction, before asking with something that sounded dangerously close to protectiveness. "I can imagine... Does it hurt badly?"

Shrugging it off, he responded honestly. "More than it should, but it's nowhere near as bad as it could be. It was just unexpected. I thought it had passed completely."

_It really doesn't help that this body is so bloody pain-sensitive in comparison to my adult self._

_"_ Slytherin."

Stifled groans came from both his sides at the hat's announcement and despite the fact that Draco had known the result in advance he was not unsympathetic to Pansy's and Daphne's expression of disappointment. Goyle might have been a mindless brute, however if given the choice between him and Crabbe, Draco would have chosen the former any day of the week. At least Goyle's simplemindedness was not intentionally cruel or even mean-spirited, in fact he had even begun to limit his participation in Death Eater activities after his wedding to Bulstrode. One of the more well-suited pairings in Draco's opinion and from what he had gathered they had enjoyed a rather quiet life, content in each other's company.

Not even Severus seemed all that enthused about the newest addition to his House, though, he hid his distaste rather well. Charitably clapping once or twice, before his black eyes fell down to Draco, raising a questioning eyebrow upon spotting his godson's unknown companion. Mouth twitching, Draco responded with a simple shrug.

Salazar knew, he and his godfather would have plenty of opportunities to converse over the course of the upcoming week, thanks to the near daily tutoring sessions Narcissa and the potions master had scheduled during his evenings. Both being under the distinct impression that he needed to learn how to protect his mind and body from future mysterious attacks on his life.

_And of course further my potions education, even though uncle Sev is already rather astounded by my rapid progress in his field._

_Most of it is superfluous really, but neither of them would have taken a 'No' for an answer._

Nevertheless, truth be told, the prospect of pretending to learn a skill he had long mastered, did not vex Draco as much as it had done a few short hours ago. Not that he actually needed his godfather's guidance, but with the Dark Lord's presence in the castle and the general threat posed by Dumbledore... Well, suffice to say that honing his Occlumency skills had suddenly become a much more pressing issue and what better way than playing a came of cat and mouse with the only other Master Legilimens Draco had access to?

Duelling was also a rather promising prospect, despite the fact that Bellatrix had the quicker wand work as well as the added ferocity of the Black family magic. In contrast Severus had the more versatile range of spells. Most of which were by far more socially acceptable than the brutal curses the Dark Lady had wielded with such deathly ease. If nothing else it would help Draco to test his restraint not to resort to the darkness he knew himself to be capable of.

_Merlin and Morgana, everything would be so much easier if I could entrust him with parts of the story... I wish I had managed to discern Severus true loyalties during the original timeline. Not that I'd ever doubt his commitment to my own or my mother's safety, however there've always been other factors at play... It certainly wasn't without cause that he survived that long as a known double-spy. Both sides must have thought to own his true fealty and only one of them could have been correct in their assumptions._

_Although I'd like to think that he wouldn't buy into the Dark Lord's agenda..._

Enthwistle, Finnegan, Finch Fletchley, Davis, Goldstein and Goyle joined their respective Houses under more or less enthusiastic applause, before McGonagall announced "Granger, Hermione." Sharp eyes easily settling on the muggleborn witch at Draco's side, causing him to wonder whether the formidable Transfiguration Professor had been the one to accompany Granger to Diagon Alley, already laying the perfect groundwork for their plan to gain her as a future ally.

"I guess, that's my cue." Accompanied by the encouraging whispers of the students around her, Granger stepped out of the crowd, confidently moving up to the Sorting Hat. Her gaze lingering on the headmaster for a second longer than strictly necessary, before she twirled on the spot and allowed McGonagall to plant the magical headwear on her head.

' _Granger, Hermione.'_

_'Gryffindor!'_

Draco still remembered the unmistakable twinge of disappointment in his gut when Granger had gotten sorted into the House of Lions for the first time, thereby crushing what little hopes he had secretly harboured to see the little girl from the train sorted into Slytherin. So many things had changed since then... They were allies, tentative friends even, at least as far as his future housemates were concerned, and they would be able to associate despite the rather unfortunate result of her sorting.

_And otherwise I'd have to give up calling her the Gryffindor Princess, so there's that._

However, the hat did not immediately cry out Gryffindor as Draco had initially expected. One minute passed, during which Hermione's features remained highly concentrated, and the hat's mouth twisted unpleasantly as if he had just bitten into an acid pop. A second and a third followed without any change, sparking restless whispers amongst the crowd of first years, which soon spread to the House tables. After the fourth minute even the teachers were speculating in hushed voices and Draco noticed the headmaster leaning forward in his seat, sparkling blue eyes fixed on the muggleborn witch, presumably already speculating about her value for his manipulative schemes.

"What is she doing?" Blaise asked lowly at his side.

Shaking his head faintly, Draco responded. "I've got no idea, mate. Although... We told her to attract positive attention didn't we? That's certainly one way to do it."

Hatstalls, a term which was generally used to describe instances where the Sorting Hat needed an unusual amount of time to deliberate between at least two possible Houses, were commonly associated with exceptional magical abilities. Flitwick and McGonagall, who were both exceedingly talented in their chosen fields, had been rather prominent toss ups between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. People would talk about Hermione's sorting well into the Yule hols, setting the stage for their plan of impressing their teachers and classmates alike with their magical abilities.

Snorting indignantly, his dark-skinned friend nodded. "Kudos to her if she's doing it intentionally. Look. Now, they are fighting."

And indeed, when Draco looked back to the Gryffindor Princess she had her mouth set into a defiant line, chin inching upwards, visibly unenthused by the hat's arguments, who also showed no inclination towards backing down a sneer appearing on the shabby fabric.

_Well, good luck with that! If ten years of knowing her have taught me anything, then that there's no force on this earth that could compel Hermione Jean Granger to do something she doesn't want to do._

Somewhere in the middle of the sixth minute everyone had gone silent once again. Attention focused on the witch, who seemed to have regained her calm, almost as if she was chatting amicably with the Sorting hat, until the batty old hat barked out a laugh and finally announced. "Ravenclaw it is, Miss Granger. I'd say it was a pleasure to dispute with you, but you're really rather insufferable."

_Wait!_

_Did he..._

_Did she just?_

_Ravenclaw?_

_"_ I'll be sure to take it as a compliment!"

Grinning unabashedly in her triumph, Granger took of the hat, depositing it in the hands of a rather rattled looking Minerva McGonagall and skipped over to the blue and bronze decorated Ravenclaw table, not without sending a smug glance in the direction of her fellow time travellers. There was a moment of tense silence only broken by the sound of Hermione's shoes clacking against the stone-floor, before the whole hall erupted into cheers, even the group of rather shellshocked first years. However no one was more enthusiastic than Filius Flitwick, who Draco saw standing on his elevated chair, proudly celebrating the newest addition to his House.

_Ravenclaw._

_Hermione Granger the Princess of Gryffindor is a Ravenclaw._

_Madness. This whole thing is madness._

_"_ Greengrass, Daphne."

Sucking in a deep breath, Daphne floated forward. A picture of pureblood grace, although Draco knew her well enough to see the fluttering nerves she hid beneath her demure facade. Pansy, who had much less composure was shifting restlessly on her spot, prompting Draco to lay a calming hand on her forearm. There would be more than enough time to work through the wide-ranging implications of Hermione's resorting, but for now his childhood friend obviously needed some support.

"Panse, it's alright. She's going to do great!"

_I promise!_

_"_ I know that!" The dark-haired witch hissed somewhat prickly, then paused until after the hat had proclaimed Daphne to be a Slytherin and the girl had taken a seat at the Slytherin table, before she finally deflated, her hushed voice shaking on the last few words. "But what if I don't? My mother would throw the fit of the century. And I don't... I'd be all alone.

"Never! Besides, trust me, smart as you are, there's only Slytherin or Ravenclaw for you. So even if you get sorted elsewhere, you'd always have Hermione to fall back on." At his mentioning of her newest friend, Pansy's face brightened considerably, blue eyes shining with thinly veiled awe, as she gushed. "You're right! Salazar, I'm so glad that you introduced us. Did you see the look on McGonagall's face? It was priceless."

_It really was!_

Shaking his head in faux disapproval, mouth curling upwards, Draco refocused his attention on the Sorting, where Neville Longbottom had taken the stage, his eyes inexplicably darting in the blond wizard's direction before the hat descended on his head. After two minutes or so the hat called out Gryffindor, much to the boy's apparent relief. So much so that he almost forgot to return the hat to the Professor, and stumbled a bit when he hurried down the stairs to his future housemates.

_Circe, he's got a very long way to go._

Morag MacDougal soon joined Hermione on the Ravenclaw table, whilst Ernie Macmillan became another Hufflepuff, which reminded Draco of the fact that Blaise would soon enough be a badger too. Sitting at the same table as all those honest and all too trusting children, was not Draco's other cousin also in Hufflepuff? Andromeda's daughter, who had ended up with their werewolf teacher? However he could not waste much time on the thought, since his own name was next on the list.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Inhaling a fortifying breath Draco stepped forward, forcing his muscles to relax as he strutted towards the stool, feeling the eyes of three hundred students burning into his back, conversations dying to a hushed whisper. A forceful reminder that much depended on the way he carried himself now. First impressions were always hard to erase from a person's mind and no matter what path he would choose in regards to Slytherin House, in any case he would need to gain the respect of his housemates as soon as humanly possible.

_The last time around it hadn't even touched my head before it declared me to be a Slytherin..._

Reactions up on the High-Table were as varied as sand on a shore, ranging from hidden pride gleaming in his godfather's eyes, to the polite interest most of the staff afforded to any new student that was about to get sorted and in some cases the cold trepidation that came with the territory of being Lucius Malfoy's son. Notable exceptions were Quirell, who simply looked frightened out of his wits, if nothing else the man was an exceptional actor, and the headmaster. Throning on the golden seat at the centre of the table, whose friendly twinkling eyes did not match the air of calculation radiating from him.

Meeting Dumbledore's reserved expression with a lazy smirk, Draco turned around and sat down, more feeling than seeing the darkness settling over his head. Closely followed by the deeply annoyed voice of the Sorting hat vibrating through his mind.

' _Founders have mercy, she said you'd be difficult...'_

_'Who? Granger? She talked to you about me? I'm well and truly flattered...'_

Intrigued by the image of Hermione thinking about him, whilst she was arguing with the sorting hat, Draco's smirk deepened to a truly slytherinworthy smile. Instantaneously he could feel the hat's presence hovering above the lake surface that protected his mind, could feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves. The near insatiable desire to see Draco's innermost thoughts, to fulfil the purpose of his creation by emerging himself in the widths of Draco's mind. All faults, thoughts, dreams and memories laid out on display for the hat's perusal.

_Thank Salazar that Occlumency seems to be working against him._

Just thinking about letting the hat into his mind made Draco's insides freeze, his defensiveness visually manifesting in a glacial temperature drop, ice spreading across the lake. For once he did not have to feign defencelessness, did not have to conceal his true powers, bound by neither secrecy nor necessity. How much could he trust the hat with the knowledge he carried? Disclosing sensitive information to a magical artefact, which technically should have been impartial, but spent the rest of the year stowed away in Dumbledore's office did not sound like a particularly enticing idea.

' _Not many people have ever dared to defy me in this way, young Malfoy.'_

_'Even fewer people have ever been allowed to enter my mind... So what exactly is your point?'_

_'I can't sort you like this. Magic wouldn't allow it!'_

_'Why? We could simply agree that I'm quite obviously meant for Slytherin. My mind wouldn't tell you otherwise.'_

_'If you are so convinced of the House I'll choose, then why not lift your barriers? Surely, there won't be any surprises... A mere formality, really...'_

_'You spend a lot of times in the presence of my enemies... So forgive me for considering it unwise to disclose all my secrets to you.'_

_'You insolent... You dare to question my integrity?'_

Heat exploded all across the lake surface, ramming into Draco's shields like a falling star, seeking to wreak destruction on the icy surface. However, Draco managed to deflect the Sorting Hat's anger fuelled attack by transforming the outer barrier yet again, a polished mirror replacing the frozen wasteland from earlier and deflecting the heat off into the unnaturally blue summer sky. As calm as possible he responded.

' _No. I just resent the company you keep.'_

To his surprise the unwavering manifestation of the Sorting hat rumbled out a laugh.

' _Fair enough.'_ Pausing, the hat added shrewdly, his dismay about Draco's continued resistance plainly recognisable. ' _You know that I could just send you to a random House and be done with it? I'm getting too old for long discussions such as this.'_

_'You said it yourself magic wouldn't allow it...'_

_'Then it seems as if we've come to an impasse.'_

_'What exactly would you need to see? I mean there must be criteria that help you to determine a student's House.'_

_'Your values, hopes, dreams, aspirations, personality... Nothing you'd be comfortable with, as I've gathered.'_

_'My memories remain my own?'_

_'Generally speaking? No, not really. Separating the one from the other is insanely difficult. You're just a child, a tenacious one, I'll grant you as much, but shielding your mind is not the same as controlling it.'_

_'Hermione didn't tell you... Never mind...'_

Inhaling a deep breath, Draco focused onto the visualisation, drawing up the underwater-grotto, where he had stored the emotional core of his being. Memories of all kinds floating in the water surrounding the twisted obsidian dragon whose twists and turns symbolised different aspects of his personality. Concentrating on the surrounding water masses he began to push the memories out of the grotto. Sealing the entrance with a wall of molten stone, before he conjured a mental image of the Sorting Hat's presence. Once he had appeared in the grotto, Draco was mentally exhausted but all in all rather content with the result.

' _Voila.'_

_'Ahh... what an old soul in such a young body.'_

Then silence reigned between them, seconds turning into minutes, the time stretching impossibly until the hat finally drawled.

' _Such precious loyalty... Helga would have actually liked you quite a bit, but then there were only very few people she could not see the good in.'_

_'I might be many things but a Hufflepuff isn't one of them.'_

_'Aren't you? I can also sense a strong sense of justice, if slightly warped. But isn't justice always such a fickle thing? Ever-changing in the eye of the beholder? It's all here in your head! Hard working too, judging by the things I've seen."_

_'You're just trying to get a rise out of me, because I didn't let you into my head sooner.'_

_'Perhaps... Ambition and cunning are there too and a keen mind as well, Slytherin or Ravenclaw would admittedly suit you quite well. Or maybe even...'_

_'No, no, no, no, no... Don't even finish that sentence. Merlin and Morgana, there's no way I'd do well amongst dunderheads like Ronald Weasley or Seamus Finnigan! I refuse! I NEED to be in Slytherin! Anything else isn't even an option.'_

_'...Gryffindor! There's actually a lot more courage inside of you than you realise.'_

_'If you say so... Doesn't make me a reckless idiot! I'm not a hero, nor will I ever be.'_

_'Your soul begs to disagree, though you've probably a bit more sense than your average lion but that can only be considered a point in your favour, don't you think?'_

_'No you can't do that! I must be a Slytherin... Anything else risks setting us up for failure!'_

_'Quite frankly that is not your choice to make!'_

_'No! Please... You said Slytherin would be well-suited!'_

Desperation seeped into his internal voice, dread gripping his heart with an iron fist, whilst he struggled to keep his outward expression impassive. Salazar, he could not get sorted into Gryffindor! Not when so much depended on swaying Slytherin away from the Dark Lord, not when the ancient halls might otherwise crumble, the blood of uncounted students staining the marble floor.

' _My decision stands. Farewell Draco Malfoy.'_

_"_ Slytherin."

_What?_

_Blasted thing!_

_'Circe, I hate you!'_

Relief warred with a lingering sense of anxiety and anger as Draco took his time to remove the tired old piece from his head, using the time to recompose himself, all the while silently cursing the Sorting Hat in his mind. He barely took note of the loud cheers coming from the Slytherin table, mingling with the muted applause the other Houses afforded him. Somewhere behind him he could hear Pansy squeal with glee and a whooping sound from Blaise as he made his way to the table, striving for the kind of aristocratic self assuredness he knew would go over well with his housemates.

Adrian Pucey was the first one to greet him at the table just as any other incoming first year, thereby already staking his claim to the throne of Slytherin. An ambition none of the other prefects, not even Montague, Pucey's arguably biggest contestant showed any interest to dispute. "Well done, Malfoy. Although it took you rather long up there... It's not exactly common to have two hatstalls in the same night. I wonder what other House might have deprived us from the honour of welcoming you at our table."

_Good grief, I really do not have the patience for this political back and fro, right now..._

_But that's Slytherin interactions in a nutshell... A constant cycle of hidden challenges..._

_"_ Pucey." Eyebrows flying up, Draco inclined his head barely enough to satisfy the demands of civility. It was not as if he did not understand the older boy's motives for putting him on the spot like that. Quite literally everything Draco had done so far, ranging from his refusal to accept the rather generous offer at King's Cross, to his public confrontation with Weaselbee and the less than common circumstances of his sorting, could be perceived as a threat to Adrian Pucey's authority.

Add to that the fact that Draco's lineage already surpassed his and that the Malfoy heir had successfully outmanoeuvred him during their very first confrontation... It was only natural that the fifth year student would seek to consolidate his power by discrediting Draco publicly.

_Doesn't mean that I've got to appreciate his efforts... At least not immediately after my argument with the Sorting Hat._

Loud enough that some of the prefects, as well as the second and third year Slytherins had the chance to pick it up, Draco countered, voice as amicable as he could force himself to be under the circumstances. "The only other House that would appreciate my intelligence. Wit and cunning seem rather close as far as the Sorting Hat is concerned, although I've got a feeling that he didn't appreciate my attitude very much."

Having delivered the only answer that would not diminish his standing, Merlin forbid one of their own might have ended up as a bloody Gryffindor, Draco sent a pointed look towards the ceremony, where Lily Moon, had just been announced to be a Slytherin. "Would you mind if we postpone this little chat? Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson are both friends of mine and I would not want to detract from their sorting."

A flash of apprehension crossed Pucey's adolescent features, but then he lowered his eyes banishing any emotion from his expression as he drawled. "A commendable sentiment, no doubt..."

Sidestepping the Slytherin prefect, Draco courteously bowed before his fellow housemates, answering the many appreciative looks of Slytherin's powerful elite, consisting of Gemma Farley, Carina Rosier, Demeter Ashe, Cassius Warrington, Graham Montague, Dorian Yaxley and Roland Rowle with a silent smirk as he sat down at Daphne's side, watching the unfolding sorting with avid interest.

_Anymore politicking will 'unfortunately' have to wait until the banquet._

_"_ Slytherin."

One after the other Moon, Theo and a very relieved looking Pansy joined them on the Slytherin table. Even Severus seemed rather content with his group of first years, or at least that was the impression Draco got from his godfather's rather relaxed posture. At one point the potions master even raised his goblet in Draco's direction, sending a small shiver of pride down his spine.

It was only after he had welcomed Pansy with all the sincere enthusiasm he had not entirely been able to muster at Theo's sorting that Draco allowed his gaze to wander to the table next to theirs, where Hermione was talking animatedly with Sue Li and Morag MacDougal. The girl Draco might have had the opportunity to free if he had not revealed his true allegiance in order to safe Blaise from the Dark Lord's wrath. When she looked up a beaming smile appeared on her face, temporarily taking his breath away. All his questions regarding her sorting instantly evaporating from his mind, reduced to two simple truths.

_Granger is a Ravenclaw now..._

_Merlin, we're going to have most of our classes together._

Then McGonagall read out. "Potter, Harry." Prompting Draco, however reluctantly, to refocus on the elevated part of the Great Hall, where the bespectacled first year stumbled forward uncertainly. Visibly shrinking into himself as whispers broke out like little hissing fires all over the Great Hall, their entire attention burning into his back."

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

Less favourable voices on the Slytherin table muttered things like "Bloody Chosen One!" Even Pansy and Daphne looked at the boy with their faces scrunched up in dismay. Siding with Weasley against the dark-haired witch and Hermione, certainly had not added to the boys reputation amongst the Slytherin first years. "Gryffindor, no doubt, the Potter's have a longstanding tradition."

"He can share a bed with Weasley for all I care."

"Panse..." Draco chastised softly, remembering the practically starved boy that he had first met in Diagon Alley, his green eyes alight with awe and wonder at the sight of magic. How they had dimmed to hopeless emptiness when Draco had visited Number 4 Privet Drive, and shied away from his uncles towering glares. The silent care with which he had unwrapped the food parcels Dobby had prepared for him as if they could vanish at any given moment.

"What?" She hissed, rightfully incensed. "He might not have joined in with the little rat, but he didn't do anything to stop him, either."

Not knowing what else to add, Draco chose not to pursue the issue further, instead seeking out Dumbledore's serene face amongst the teachers. Quite frankly he was rather curious about the headmaster's reaction.

There was something about the old fool's behaviour regarding the whole Potter business that just did not add up. No matter how often Draco tried to think it through. If Potter had been a random boy, tragically orphaned during a Death Eater attack... Well, then leaving him with his relatives without making sure that he was well cared for was, if not excusable, then at least not completely irrational. Post War Britain had been a mess, the ministry thrown into chaos amidst hastily thrown together trials and the partial exposure of the corruption that had been running rampant even long before the Dark Lord had made his bid for world domination.

_However, Harry is anything but inconsequential to the headmaster. For Merlin's sake he's the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived and most importantly Dumbledore's precious prophecy child._

So why would someone who believed so religiously in Trelawney's ramblings leave the supposed Saviour of the Wizarding World in the care of his abusive relatives? Dumbledore could have just as easily acquired Potter's guardianship himself, preparing the boy from a young age for the role he wanted him to fill...

_So why hasn't he?_

_And while we're at it... Why on earth would he set up a bloody obstacle course in a school full of children? Just easy enough for three first years to pass... All in order to protect one of the most sought after magical artefacts that would have been better guarded in the headmaster's office?_

_"_ Better be..."

_Gryffindor_.

"...Slytherin!"

Many thing happened at once following the Sorting Hat's booming declaration. For one, the headmaster jerked back in a rather unusual display of absolute shock. Eyeballs bulging and face paling as he knocked over the goblet in front of him, trenching his own robes, as well as Professor Sinistra's whose quiet gasp echoed in the deathly silent Great Hall. Potter himself, stared helplessly at the gaping mass in front of him, wilting under the disbelieving stares that were directed at him and Draco's godfather, who under any other circumstances could have been relied upon to step in and save one of his snakes from public embarrassment, just stared at the boy with a mixture of silent shock and apprehension. 

_Slytherin?_

_Harry James Potter._

_Saviour._

_Chosen One._

_Golden Boy._

_The very epitome of Gryffindor foolishness..._

From the corner of his eye, Draco could see Granger rising from her seat, gaze flickering in his direction. Shaking his head at her, all the while struggling to bite back the hysterical laughter that was threatening to bubble to the surface, Draco stood up himself. In this case none of the Slytherins would appreciate any intervention coming from one of the other Houses... Acutely aware of the wide-eyed stares he drew from the rest of his housemates, Pucey included, as well as the entirety of the Great Hall, the Malfoy heir began to clap. Each clap resonating like thunder in the tense silence.

_Salazar help me, Harry Potter is actually going to be a Slytherin._

Soon enough Pansy and Daphne joined in, loyalty to him winning out against their dislike of Potter, their example prompting other Slytherins to do the same and it was under the measured but unanimous applause of his fellow Slytherins and even of some of the Ravenclaws, Hermione's doing no doubt, that Draco marched up to Potter and grinned at the rather bedraggled looking boy. "Well, do come on Potter! As you can see, the House of Salazar Slytherin welcomes you. Although, I've got to admit, we were unfortunately a bit slow on the uptake."

Blaise's muffled guffaw drifted to them as they passed the small crowd of yet unsorted first years, the wide eyes of their teachers following the way of the unlikely pair in abject disbelief. Shooting a glance in his friend's direction, Draco noticed that Blaise was standing rather close to a devastated looking Weaselbee whose face was resembling the colour of a ripe tomato. Following a sudden inspiration Draco turned to the dumbstruck boy at his side, stating with an innocent smile. "I'd introduce myself at this point but we know each other already, don't we?"

"Draco, I..."

_Ah, it's almost too easy..._

Just as he had anticipated, Potter's use of Draco's first name was followed by a strangled outcry tearing itself from Weasley's throat, who thankfully caused enough of a scene to momentarily distract the crowd from the two wizards who were making their way to the Slytherin table. Presenting Draco with the perfect opportunity to instruct the other boy quietly, eyes darting down the rows of their housemates. "Keep close to me, Potter. Tonight's not going to be all roses and unicorns. And... Perhaps, leave most of the talking to me, will you? Handling Slytherins can get rather complicated."

_Especially if you've never interacted with purebloods before... Circe, this is going to be a bloody nightmare!_

The boy nodded mutely, visibly overwhelmed by the sudden influx of information but they had almost reached the table, making further elaboration impossible.

_Here goes nothing!_

_"_ Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott our year-mates and Adrian Pucey, one of the prefects of our House." Upon their arrival Pansy, shot Draco a calculating look that promised violent retribution if he did not have a damn good explanation once the two of them were in private, but at least for now she followed protocol and nodded at Potter with a sickly sweet smile. "Merry meet, Potter."

"Merry meet." Potter mirrored, nodding somewhat shyly at each of the first years as well as the prefect, causing Draco to relax slightly at his side. At least the raven haired boy had enough awareness to pick up on the formal greeting, making the whole interaction decidedly less awkward than it could have been.

"Merry meet, Potter. Welcome to Slytherin." Pucey intoned, gaze never straying from the scar that was only partially hidden beneath the dark fringe. Quickly followed by Theo and Daphne's stilted welcome, before Draco gestured towards the two free seats the first years had reserved for them. "Let's sit."

Obediently the boy sat down, gaze darting uncertainly between Pansy and Draco, as if asking the blond wizard for guidance how to proceed with the dark haired witch.

_Good grief, that one's entirely on you, Potter..._

_"_ Weasley, Ronald."

"Gryffindor."

"Look Panse, let's give him the benefit of..."

Draco's conciliatory statement got cut off by a sudden bang at the entrance of the Great Hall and he barely had the time to think:

_Morgana, I don't think I can stomach anymore surprises tonight._

Then the doors flew wide open, revealing two witches standing side by side. One, having the proportions of a little girl of Hogwarts age, whilst the other was of tall stature, straight blond hair falling freely down her back. Hand in hand the two witches stepped forward, walking through the unnaturally silent Great Hall towards the Sorting Hat, where Blaise was standing. The very last student, who had not been sorted yet.

"I apologise for our tardiness, headmaster. My..."

At the sound of her all too familiar voice Draco's breath caught in his throat thoughts racing through his mind, however it was Hermione who blurted out.

"Luna?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione in Ravenclaw:  
> (AlabasterInk kudos for kind of figuring that one out..)  
> I discussed quite a bit of this with Chalk_Lines in the comments, but just to make it official, Hermione underwent quite the change during the AU Part of my storyline. She and Luna became best friends and as a result this Hermione is much more openminded and experimental... Her wardwork is truly exceptional and not because of her adherence to rules she has found in some stuffy book (don’t misunderstand that part I love books with a passion), but because she trusts her inherent talent for it. Following Dumbledore’s guidance and subsequently ending up in a wartorn dystopia has crushed most of her trust in authority figures, teaching her to rely on her own judgement! Besides, she really doesn’t want to be in direct contact with Ron. Like really, really not!!!
> 
> On an unrelated note her friendship with Luna is also the reason why she is so nice to Draco, much to his notable confusion... I’ve brushed the subject in the last chapter, but Luna was the biggest supporter of a Dramione relationship by giving Hermione glimpses of Draco’s character, which she wouldn’t have been able to see otherwise. By the time Luna performed the ritual, Hermione actually had kind of a crush on Luna’s mysterious cousin, which also explains her overreaction when the three arrived at the hideout. Seeing that the object of her secret admiration is actually Draco Malfoy, Voldemort’s second in command, well I’d lash out too!
> 
> Draco Malfoy in all the other Houses: Well most of that is just the sorting hat messing with him because he already had to fight with Hermione and then Draco is so terribly uncooperative... However, I actually think that sorting adults is much harder than eleven year old children, becaus people are multifaceted. Draco is brave when he needs to be, loyal to those he values and undeniably smart, he just uses cunning to achieve his goals.
> 
> Harry: Well, Ron’s nastiness played a huge part in his decision, but also the fact that in this timeline Draco was the very first friend he made. Leading him to question the general anti Slytherin sentiment both Hagrid and Ron have expressed. Seeing the way Draco stood up for Pansy also didn’t hurt matters...
> 
> Reactions you wanted to see... They were probably not as well described as you would have liked, but Draco has only so many eyes ;) Severus will have a word with Draco later, there’s the banquet and I’ll feature the sorting ceremony in A Mother’s love, so there’s more to come. (Dumbledore’s reaction too!)
> 
> Luna: Look who’s back!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought about this chapter!


	14. Order out of Chaos Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting continues and Severus welcomes the newest additions to his House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovelies!
> 
> It’s been way too long and I apologise for the wait, but I had some difficulties with the writing process this time and I did not want to post something that wasn’t up to my usual standards. My birthday and the fact that I am trying to apply for another college probably did not help.
> 
> That being said, I would never, ever abandon this story like some asked in the comments, I love this characters way too much! Your response to the last chapter was sooo amazing and I thank each and everyone of you for the wonderful discussions I’ve had since then. I hope this chapter does not disappoint, even if not all of your questions regarding Luna get resolved. 
> 
> Lena
> 
> P.S.: I don’t own Harry Potter, but the Hogwarts song and some of Dumbledores dialogue is taken directly from the book.

_Luna!_

_Why...?_

_What on earth is she...?_

_Circe, at least she's alive!_

Delving deeper into whatever obscure literature the Malfoy library had to offer on the subject of time travel, Draco had actually begun to fear that the enactment of the ritual could have cost his cousin's life. After all, the crippling weeks of life-threatening fever notwithstanding, Hermione, Blaise and Draco himself had gotten through the soul-transfer relatively unscathed. Their minds and bodies intact and their magical cores as strong as they had ever been. An observation, which really left only two feasible explanations at this point in time: Either the literature he had collected was wildly exaggerated, -which could quite easily be explained by the unprecedented nature of the ritual-, or Luna, in her role as the spell-caster, had been the one to pay the sacrifice for all of them.

_Unfortunately that would have made quite a lot of sense..._

Heart-wrenching as acknowledging the mere idea had been, at the very least it would have offered a somewhat convincing explanation as to why Luna had not bothered to inform either Hermione or Draco himself about her plans. Strictly strategically speaking there were even quite a few arguments in favour of such an approach, keeping three quarters of their group fully functional at the expense of one of its members. Not that Draco had taken much comfort in utilitarian considerations moving along those lines... Luna's possible death was not a prize he would have been willing to pay and more than once he had cursed her insistence on bearing such a burden all on her own. Seeing her alive, especially after he had already resigned himself to spending another year in maddening uncertainty, felt decidedly surreal but by no means in an unwelcome way.

Nevertheless, he could not help but wonder about the, as of yet, unresolved circumstances of his cousin's unexpected interruption of the Sorting. One year too early and by all appearances older than even he remembered her, a young version of herself at her side. Craning his head a bit in order to get a better view of the two iterations of his cousin, Draco's eyes darted across the sea of heads from the Ravenclaw table, waiting for Luna's reaction to Hermione's disbelieving outburst. From his seat he could only see the taller one, who had stepped forward, effectively shielding the child at her side from their view, her brightly gleaming eyes narrowing dangerously at the chestnut haired Ravenclaw.

However, it was not the witch's overtly hostile reaction that drew audible gasps from everyone in Draco's general vicinity, Potter, Theo, Pansy and Daphne included. No, it was the razor-thin network of silver-white scars, which were covering the, until then, hidden part of her face like a faint cobweb. Spread out all across her left cheekbone, splitting the corner of her lip and running down to the neckline of her forest-green robes, where leaflike ornaments had been woven into the fabric.

_Wait!_

_This isn't Luna..._

The two women's features did indeed bear a striking resemblance to each other... One that strongly hinted at an existing relation between them, in particular when you based your evaluation solely on her finely cut profile. But even there, a closer examination revealed quite a few subtle differences. At age twenty-one, Draco's cousin had retained the airy lightness of her Lovegood heritage, faylike beauty paired with an aura of quiet serenity and whilst this woman shared the small lips and patrician nose, she was most definitely older, her hair straight and the shape of her bright grey eyes definitely different. In fact they reminded Draco of...

_No!_

_Salazar, that just can't be right._

_Why would...?_

_How?_

_"_ There's certainly no need for apologies, Pandora." The headmaster affected an indulgent smile as he waved off the blonde witch's apology in an unwittingly well-timed interruption that forced her to break eye contact with the former Gryffindor Princess. Allowing Hermione some breathing time to grapple with this, the most recent and arguably most shocking twist in a long line of surprising turns that had dominated their Sorting. Pandora Alethea Lovegood nee Malfoy. Lady of Lovegood Tower. Luna's mother, who, during the original timeline, had died years before Draco had even learned of her existence. Sole victim of a devastating explosion which had been triggered by her experimentations with an unstable spell, leaving Luna with nothing but burned ashes to bury.

_Sweet Merlin, I can't believe that she's actually alive!_

_Luna must have altered the timeline even more significantly than we had previously assumed..._

_Was saving her mother intentional on Luna's part? Or just the result of a much deeper deviation in the timelines that their transfer had caused entirely by accident? How would it affect their strategy going forward and if Pandora's survival had been her daughter's intention all along, what was the prize that had come attached to such a monumental change?_

Questions whirling through his mind, Draco made an attempt to catch a glimpse of Luna, the real one for a change, as the two witches advanced but since Pandora blocked the view, he settled for a quick assessment of his newly found relative. Trying to match what little he knew about his not so late aunt and Lucius' older sister with the woman walking just a few feet away from him. The very same woman who had fled her impending marriage with Theodore Nott Sr. by aligning herself with the one family that offered her the means to escape her parents' and later her brother's wrathful reach.

_Resourceful and pragmatic._

_And who could have blamed her, Nott Sr. is a nasty piece of work._

Pandora had been rumoured to be a beauty in her days at Hogwarts, sorted into Ravenclaw just like her daughter, sharp-witted and presumably with the haughty air of confidence that came from being born into the Malfoy family. Unfortunately he had never quite managed to discern whether she shared her daughter's seer talents, but for now the only thing that mattered was that Luna had loved her mother dearly and after her death mourned her in silence, so as not to unbalance her already grief-torn father any further.

Now, at age forty two, Pandora held herself with self assured elegance, every movement precise and calculated, her predatory graze far more reminiscent of her brother than she probably would have liked. Sharp-eyed, the network of scars running down her face and giving her a fierce, warrior-like beauty. All in all Pandora gave a rather convincing impression of a witch you definitely would not want to cross, hardened by untold hardship and with an undercurrent of sadness that was painfully reminiscent of Luna's own heartbreak following Potter's suicide but in a more controlled, temperate manner.

"This must be your daughter, then? Luna, if I remember it quite correctly? And just in time for the Sorting... Come up my child!" Dumbledore beckoned Draco's cousin forward, his calm words quieting the hushed murmurs that had begun to break out all across the Great Hall. In sharp contrast Pandora seemed to be less than enthused by the headmaster's proclamation, her hand reaching for her daughter's shoulder and keeping Luna from following the headmaster's request on her own. True concern flashing across her face, erasing any even remote resemblance to Lucius within the blink of an eye.

Despite the utmost simplicity of the gesture, Draco felt his heart swell with warmth... Luna would have never admitted as much in so many words, but her mother's death had left a deep emptiness in her life, only worsened by her father's inconsolable sorrow, who had never quite learned to cope with his wife's untimely demise.

_Salazar, please, just let her be alright!_

Hermione's thoughts seemed to have moved along the same lines, since her features had morphed into an expression of utmost concern. Her eyes resting on her friend's back while Pandora was leading her up to the Sorting hat. Passing Blaise, whose guarded expression had taken on a disquieting degree of speechless horror. Increasing Draco's fears to an yet unknown level before the girl finally turned around, revealing the cause for the Italian wizard's reaction and eliciting shocked outbursts all throughout the Great Hall.

_No!_

_Oh, Luna..._

Long blonde locks, serene smile, high stature and a bounce in her step. For the most part she looked like a slightly younger version of the spirited girl Draco had observed for the better part of a year, before he had eventually mustered up the courage to approach her. However, where her dreamy blue eyes had once sparkled in the candlelight, they were now covered with a thick milky-white sheen, staring unseeingly into the void, right before the ratty old hat descended on her head.

_Merlin..._

_"_ Why don't you take a seat, Pandora? Join us at the feast?" Twinkling blue eyes darting quickly towards Harry's place at the Slytherin table, Dumbledore gestured up and down the High Table. Then he added with a jovial nod, veiled disapproval lending his voice a slightly sharper edge. "Tonight has truly been a night of many surprises and I'm sure Filius would appreciate having a chat with a former student."

With one last lingering look at her daughter, Luna's mother gave the headmaster a sharp nod in order to indicate that she was accepting his invitation, before she made her way towards the old Charms Professor, who had conjured her a seat right beside him.

Sparking a new round of whispers in her wake, even amongst some of the teachers, who either eyed the unexpected addition to their group speculatively or looked down on Luna with pity etched into their features. Some, mostly the older Professors and Severus of course, even seemed to have drawn the connection between Pandora Lovegood and the newly sorted Malfoy heir, their gazes darting towards the Slytherin table with far less subtlety than they had probably intended.

"Did you see that?"

"Rowena, what happened to her eyes?"

"Sweet Salazar, the poor thing..." Grateful for any distraction, no matter how temporary, from the tumultuous emotions the revelation of Luna's blindness had caused, Draco turned back to face the two girls who were staring at his cousin with a mixture of disbelief and compassion. In a world where curse scars were a rarity, permanent blindness was certainly not something any of them had encountered in their day to day life. It took yet another second before Daphne shook her head, soft voice wavering slightly as she asked. "Isn't there anything they can do for her? There must be a counter-curse right? Or a potion, perhaps? I mean... How is she ever supposed to learn anything if she can't even read any of the books?"

_If only it were that easy..._

_"_ There's Virilius Ashe's curse counter-curse theorem..."

Theo began hesitantly before Draco interjected, waving his hand somewhat dismissively. "True enough, Theo, but it only postulates that magical balance demands the existence of an equally powerful counter-curse for every known curse. There's, however, no guarantee that anyone has already discovered the specific spell, so Ashe's theorem is just that... Largely theoretical. Furthermore, many counter-spells need to be performed within a certain timeframe or dependent on specific environmental factors, which makes..."

"Circe, Draco, classes haven't even started yet." Faint amusement curled up Pansy's lips as she playfully swatted at his arm, effectively interrupting his thought process. "Save the lecture for Defence against the Dark Arts, will you? Slytherin could surely do with the House points."

_In an OWL level essay perhaps..._

_"_ Well, just because you asked so nicely, Panse..." Grinning halfheartedly at the dark haired witch, Draco shrugged, helplessness coating his voice. "I really don't think there's much anyone can do. Just look at her mother... She doesn't exactly strike me as a woman who would take a 'no' for an answer, if there was anything that could be done. Especially not where it concerns her only daughter's wellbeing."

Biting down the inescapable wave of sadness at the thought that Luna might never see again, that his all too brave cousin had sacrificed her sight in order to give all of them a second chance at life, Draco leaned slightly towards the raven haired boy to his right. Addressing him quietly.

"Potter."

Startled by Draco's sudden interest Harry perked up, flushing bright red once he noticed the four pairs of eyes resting on him. Avoiding Pansy's uncharitable expression, he swallowed nervously, once again causing Draco to wonder why the Sorting hat had sent a boy to Slytherin who tended to wear his heart on his sleeve. A trait that could easily prove a fatal flaw amongst the politically minded snakes, who had spent most of their lives learning how to conceal their true emotions. Even eleven year old Pansy, an open book by any pureblood standards was much more mindful of public perception. Limiting her passionate outbursts to a select circle of trusted friends.

"Yes?"

"In the exceedingly unlikely case that Lovegood gets sorted into Slytherin, I need you to be the one who escorts her to our table." Already recognising the first signs of protest rising within those emerald green orbs, Draco elaborated as quickly as he could without sounding too rushed. Salazar knew, having the Chosen One publicly challenge his authority simply would not do, no matter if it happened intentionally or out of sheer bloody ignorance.

"Trust me, I'd much rather do it myself... Alas, her mother might not be particularly receptive to any intervention on my part... Or Theo's for that matter. Regardless of the fact that the Lovegoods were only sympathisers of the Light and not active fighters during the last war there's a lot of bad blood between our families."

_Besides, I can't imagine Pandora being thrilled if her daughter would be greeted by the son of her much despised brother. The cousin Luna isn't supposed to know anything about._

Harry's lack of comprehension was rather obvious as he nodded haltingly, visibly uncomfortable with the prospect of once again becoming the centre of attention. His blindsided reaction earning him highly surprised looks from both Daphne and Theo, which prompted Draco to resolve himself to give the boy a history lesson as soon as humanly possible. Inwardly cursing whatever mad scheme the headmaster had cooked up that required Potter to remain so aggravatingly oblivious to his own history.

Pansy, however, was way too busy rolling her eyes at the blond wizard, stage-whispering with a teasing smile. "Circe, Draco... I knew you had most of the old family trees memorised but that was quick even by your standards. Must've been something about the hair... That shade is rather distinctive, isn't it?"

_Well..._

_"_ Not the faintest idea what you're talking about, Panse." Sharing a tentative grin at Draco's sarcastic drawl, the group refocused their attention on the Sorting hat as the ratty old thing straightened up and announced, his booming voice bouncing from the high stonewalls of the Great Hall. "Gryffindor."

_Quelle surprise..._

_Not that I wouldn't have vastly preferred seeing Luna join Hermione on the Ravenclaw table, but quite a few of Luna's more recent actions were kind of gryffindorish. Performing a wildly experimental piece of magic on the faint off-chance that it might change our fate? A ritual that could have just as easily cost her her life? Talk about self-sacrifice..._

_And at the very least it looks like we'll have one of us in each House... That must be good for something, right?_

Enthusiastic claps came from the Gryffindor table and both Weasley twins even stood up in order to accompany Luna to her seat, but McGonagall waved them off impatiently. Taking it upon herself to lead the newest addition to her House towards her fellow housemates. Once they had reached them, the platinum blonde witch slid down, her movements far less coordinated than Draco was used to, a heavy indicator that her blindness was a more recent development.

_Thank Salazar for small mercies... She isn't sitting next to Weaselbee..._

Considering how shaken Hermione had been after her confrontation with the redhead, Draco felt a small twinge of relief when he saw the signature red hair a few seats removed from his cousin, who had settled on a seat between an awkwardly smiling Neville Longbottom and one of the Patil twins. Partially reassured that Luna would be alright amongst the lions... Well, at least until Draco or one of the other time-travellers had the chance to initiate a conversation with her, the Malfoy heir met Hermione's warm whiskey eyes who was regarding him with a mixture of concern and sympathy.

_Just like her to worry about others before herself..._

_"_ Zabini, Blaise."

_Finally!_

Giving the newly sorted Ravenclaw a barely perceptible nod, hoping to communicate that whilst he was not all too thrilled about Luna's injury he was well aware that the repercussions of enacting the ritual could have been significantly worse, Draco returned his attention to the Sorting. Just in time to see his Italian wizard sauntering up to the wooden stool, obviously enjoying being at the centre of attention. Smirking at the audience with obvious confidence before the stern looking witch at his side, lowered the Sorting hat on his head. With an exasperated roll of his eyes at his friends antics the blond wizard tilted his head towards the High Table, trying to gauge the teacher's reaction to the, let's say, rather unusual events of this year's sorting.

Severus was leaning back in his chair, ignoring the ongoings around him in favour of regarding the unorthodox seating arrangements at the Slytherin table with a pensive expression. Quirrel, at his side was a bit harder to read, since he was so immersed in the pitiful persona of the stuttering DADA professor, but ever so often his face tilted just a bit sending faint stabs of pain through Draco's arm. Never as intense as the first time, but still enough to be less than comfortable. Dumbledore in turn seemed to have overcome his initial shock, blue eyes twinkling behind the half moons of his golden glasses as he zeroed in on Hermione.

_Muggleborn and a hatstall, no wonder he's interested in her._

_Manipulative bastard._

Lastly Draco settled on his aunt, who was mustering him with some sort of detached curiosity. One of her sharp eyebrows raised in a silent question, which Draco took as enough of an encouragement to give her a respectful nod. Silently trying to show that he was quite aware of their shared familial connection. It definitely was not much but Pandora's cautious interest gave him a tiny sliver of hope that she was not as adverse to him personally as he might have previously assumed.

"Do you think she's going to be alright over there, Draco?"

Smuggling one last lopsided smirk in Pandora's general direction, whose guarded expression had turned into one of mild surprise at her young nephew's acknowledgment, Draco turned back to Harry. Avadagreen eyes still glued to the blind girl sitting at the Gryffindor table as she was quite obviously struggling to maintain a conversation with a blushing and stammering Longbottom. A tinge of protectiveness had crept into the boy's voice, very in-keeping with the hero complex Draco had been all too willing to attest his original version but nevertheless betraying a sincere interest in Luna's fate that Draco found all the more commendable, given that Harry had never interacted with the blonde witch before.

Infusing his voice with far more confidence than he actually felt, Draco responded softly. "She'll be fine, Potter. Perhaps not as well protected as in Slytherin where her House would have been honour bound to protect her, but McGonagall won't tolerate it either if an idiotic dunderhead like Ronald Weasley is making her feel uncomfortable. Professor Snape might be considerably more proactive in his duties as our Head of House, but that witch can be scary if she wants to be."

"Head of House?"

_Clueless... He's so fucking clueless._

_Gods, judging by this evening so far I won't have any time to plot the Dark Lord's demise because I'll be far too busy teaching Potter how to navigate the snake pit._

Indicating each Professor with a tilt of his head, Draco explained, carefully keeping his voice free of any signs impatience. Establishing trust between him and Potter would go a very long way to ensure the boy's safety, now that the unthankful task of keeping the Chosen One out of trouble had apparently fallen to him.

"The headmaster very rarely interferes with the day to day business of the Houses. Instead each House is under the care and protection of one member of the faculty: Minerva McGonagall, the witch who greeted us in front of the Great Hall, is responsible for Gryffindor. Pomona Sprout, the Herbology Professor for Hufflepuff. Filius Flitwick, the rather short wizard besides Pandora Lovegood for Ravenclaw. And in the case of Slytherin it would be Severus Snape, the Potion's Master of Hogwarts."

"That's the wizard besides Prof... Ouch." Suddenly Harry broke off mid-sentence, a flash of pain running across his face before he had the chance to cover his reaction. Hand flying up instinctively, pressing against the small, lightning shaped scar he had until that moment successfully hidden behind his unruly black hair.

_Quirrel._

_Interesting that Harry's scar would also react to the Dark Lord's presence..._

_"_ Quite alright there, Potter?" Daphne leaned forward, her offhanded question somewhere between a challenge and actual interest as she squinted at the visibly shaky boy with a fair amount of suspicion. Gaze snapping towards the High Table in an obviously failing attempt to locate the source of her House mates apparent distress.

"N-nothing."

_Good grief, Potter. I'm not exactly asking for much, but would it hurt you to lie a tad more convincingly? You're a Slytherin now. Not even a toddler would fall for that stammering... Much less a young pureblood girl like Daphne Greengrass._

Distracting the young witch would be much more difficult, now that Harry's less than convincing reply had caught her attention, however... "We were just talking about Professor Snape, Daphne."

As expected the blond girl flashed him a bright smile, mirth shining through her eyes, the questions about Potter's odd behaviour forgotten. Playful banter amongst friends would always be more of an priority to Daphne than figuring out the weird reaction of a boy she did not really care about anyway. "Professor Snape? Well, look who's turned formal all of a sudden, Draco... Last time we talked he was still 'uncle Sev', wasn't he?"

Copying his friend's lighthearted demeanour, Draco countered, the corners of his mouth lifting up. "Well, last time we talked he wasn't exactly my teacher, never mind my Head of House. There was quite a substantial change in circumstances since then that begs to be acknowledged."

"Wait... Sn... Professor Snape is your uncle?"

"Godfather, actually, but close enough, Potter."

_And as of today also YOUR Head of House..._

If nothing else, observing the unfolding dynamic between Harry and Severus was shaping up to be rather interesting. No matter how explosive their interactions during the original timeline might have been, there was no way Draco could see his godfather treating one of the students under his protection with the same sneering contempt as he had done with Potter. Nevertheless, it definitely could not hurt to caution the boy that Severus was a harsh taskmaster. "Godson or not he's not one to go easy on anybody. Delivering anything short of excellence in his class automatically puts you in remedial potion's tutoring, so I'd strongly advise you to read up on the theory before our first lesson."

"Or you simply ask Draco to be your brewing partner..." Pansy interrupted their conversation with an self-satisfied grin, for a brief moment forgetting that she was supposed to be furious at Potter. "Absolute potion's swot that he is, there's not much that could go wrong with that strategy."

"Sorry to disappoint, Panse, but I'd say there's a rather high chance that I'm going to be paired up with Lovegood, don't you think? I doubt that any of this year's Gryffindors could even brew a decent first year potion, never mind whilst working with a blind partner."

_Not that I'd mind to get paired with her._

_"_ Hufflepuff." The announcement of Blaise's new House effectively ended their discussion, prompting Pansy, Daphne and even Theo to deflate slightly as the dark skinned wizard took a seat on the opposite side of the Great Hall. Unconvincingly joining into the resounding applause that accompanied the end of this year's Sorting, despite their palpable dissatisfaction with the Sorting hat's decision. Draco himself could not deny that a small part of him was disappointed to loose his friend to the badgers, although it had been the desired outcome all along.

_Slytherin won't be quite the same without Blaise's indomitable positivity..._

Once the last claps had ceased the headmaster stood up, richly decorated robes glistening in the candlelight as he delivered one of his infamously irksome speeches. Arms open wide, his eery blue eyes twinkling at the assembled students as he beamed at them, as if nothing could have pleased him more than seeing all of them sitting here in front of him. "Welcome." Dumbledore said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! What a truly unforgettable evening, teaching us once again the wisdom of expecting the unexpected. Now, before we begin our traditional banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

"Thank you!"

As soon as the headmaster had finished his speech the Gryffindor table erupted into cheers, closely followed by the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and a much less enthused response from the Slytherin table. All of the Professor's chimed in, even if Draco could have sworn that Severus had to hold back a pained grimace at the headmaster's odd eccentricities. Most of the Slytherin first years looked as if they were torn between maintaining their respectable facade or bursting into less than dignified giggles. Taking their cues from some of the older students who affected an air of disdain or showed their distaste for the headmaster's lack of public decorum by sneering mockingly in the direction of the High Table.

"Is he... Doesn't he seem a bit mad to you?" Harry asked Draco uncertainly, his hesitant voice still loud enough to attract the attention of their surrounding housemates including some of the closer Slytherin prefects like Pucey, Warrington and Farley. All too well aware of the fact that a good part of Slytherin's elite was listening to his reply, the Malfoy heir chose his next words with great care. Trying to balance the popular opinion amongst the students of his House with the necessity of keeping Potter alert to the backhanded manipulations the old coot would probably resort to once he had gotten over the initial shock of the boy's sorting.

"On the surface? Most certainly..." The Malfoy heir conceded easily. "Nonetheless, I'd advise you not to underestimate Albus Dumbledore, Potter. As foolish as the old wizard might appear at first, second or even seventh glance, he's incontestably one of the Greatest Wizards of our time. Thinking him harmless would be quite a severe mistake. Not to mention that it's exactly what he wants you to do... Otherwise he wouldn't bother pulling off this entire farce, would he?"

"Well, look at that..." An amused sounding girl's voice cut into their conversation. Quickly followed by an unabashedly assessing look from the strawberry blond witch with piercing violet-blue eyes, who was sitting a few seats down the line. Lecturing both Pucey and Warrington with much more delight than the occasion demanded. "One of our new baby snakes is preaching what I've been trying to tell you two for years. The headmaster is much more competent than any of us wants to give him credit for."

_Ugh. Baby snakes... Really, Gemma?_

Gemma Farley, Slytherin's female sixth year prefect, Montague's betrothed and the candidate to beat when it came to next year's Head Girl position was currently without question the most powerful witch in their House. Her extraordinary magical strength, strategic mindset and strong-willed personality enough to commend her far beyond her less prestigious family ties. Earning her approval would go a very long way to solidify Draco's position if he actually were to make an attempt for the crown of Slytherin.

_Quite interesting that she's sitting with Pucey, though... Montague must have insulted her pretty badly if she chose to scorn him so publicly. Not that they weren't always rather ill-suited or anything..._

_"_ Malfoy might be many things, Gemma, but a baby snake certainly isn't one of them." There was an unmistakable hint of admiration in Pucey's voice, regardless of the fact that the aspiring Slytherin ruler could not successfully hide his slight irritation at Draco's apparent lack of predictability. "He has a grasp of our House politics that's rather disturbing. Give him one or two years to assimilate and he'll be a force to be reckoned with."

_Thanks for the vote of confidence Pucey, but I won't need a year or two!_

_"_ He's a first year Adrian... A powerful one, I'll grant you that, but don't pretend that we didn't know as much already. It's not without reason that the Malfoy and the Black bloodlines are so universally revered!" Half-accusingly, the sixteen year old added, full lips quirking up into a teasing smile. "You're just sore because he handled the Potter situation much more elegantly than any of us older students. Vanquisher of the Dark Lord or not, the boy is a Slytherin now. Whatever grievances some might still hold against him, they shouldn't get addressed this publicly."

_Well, that's encouraging... Gemma advocating for a united front is a promising, if tiny, first step towards earning Slytherin's acceptance of Potter._

_"_ Still hard to wrap my head around the fact that Harry bloody Potter got sorted into Slytherin..." Cassius Warrington shook his head disbelievingly, ash-blond locks falling down into his face, but Draco was already distracted at that point. Attention reverting back to the conversations around him as Pansy nudged his side, eyeing the empty plate in front of him with furrowed eyebrows. "I know you aren't one for a large appetite, Draco, but that's rather extreme even by your pitiful standards. Besides, you still have to tell us how you two got to know each other."

' _You've got to eat! It's one thing not to tell anyone about the specifics of your task, but you can't expect us to watch you starve yourself. Merlin, I know you Draco, you're so much stronger than that!'_

_'It's not just about the task... Nothing is ever going to be the same after this, nothing.'_

_'I will. Our friendship will. You're not alone in this!'_

She sent a reproachful look in Potter's direction, her disapproval evident in the tightness of her lips. Deliberately taking his time to let his gaze trail across the large piles of food, Draco tried to choose something from the large selection of dishes that had materialised in front of him: Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and for some strange, undoubtedly headmaster related reason, peppermint humbugs. Eventually he reached for one of the flaky golden-brown pumpkin pastries.

_It's not Dobby's soup, but close enough..._

Voices had quieted down around them, whilst Theo and Daphne were both pretending and miserably failing not to appear all too interested at the prospect of hearing about their friend's connection to the chosen darling of the Wizarding world. The majority of their families, Draco's own in particular, very much excluded. Harry in turn was shifting restlessly on the bench besides Draco, poking at the plentiful food he had loaded onto his plate mere moments ago. Seemingly having lost whatever appetite he might have had previously, as he sent an insecure look in Pansy's direction.

"I'm sorry, you know? About what happened at the station? Ron... He was way out of line and I should've..."

That's so not going to end well...

_Muffliato._

_Uncle Sev definitely knew what he was doing when he invented that spell!_

_"_ Yes, you should have and oh, I'm sure you're sorry... Now, that you're a Slytherin at least." Flicking her dark hair back, Pansy drawled mockingly. Impressively switching from her generally exuberant personality to the persona of the coldhearted pureblood heiress. "Not exactly the soundest strategy to get sorted into the only House where my social standing far surpasses your own, was it?"

Shamed into silence, Harry lowered his head dejectedly, causing Draco to exhale a heavy sigh as he came to the raven haired wizard's defence. "Look Panse, what would you've wanted Potter to do? Publicly denounce Weasley when he, just as everyone else on this table, assumed they would get sorted into the same House? And for what? In order to stand up for a girl whose family was an influential sympathiser of the side his parents vigorously opposed during the Wizarding War?"

"And as for Weasley, we four can quite easily afford to dismiss him as an ill-mannered bully, even to hold his entire family in contempt for their utter disregard of our traditions... Given their lack of political presence and Gryffindor's established feud with our House they are basically nonentities in our day to day lives. However it would have been another matter altogether if one of us would have been sorted into their House. Regardless of our personal opinion on the subject the Weasleys are well respected amongst the Lions, their parents admired as former Order of the Phoenix fighters and arguably Dumbledore's staunchest supporters."

_To their own detriment as it turned out, but their resilience was nothing if not admirable. Although I'd have been forced to question their sanity if they had not rescinded their support for the headmaster after all the hardship they had suffered in his name._

Well, admittedly, their own son's betrayal did not help matters any and Dumbledore had the advantage of being regarded through the rosy tinged glasses of martyrdom, but even then... Post War Britain had not really encouraged delusions about the Order's state of mismanagement, not with the steadily rising death tolls amongst them, Molly Weasley and the twins who had all been amongst the fallen of the Battle of Hogwarts, Percy who had died in captivity and more indirectly Ginny Weasley, whose premature death might have been preventable if she had had access to the proper medical care and not been weakened by malnourishment and exhaustion.

"Facing seven years in close quarters not only with the weasel but also his much more talented brothers each and everyone of us would have thought twice about contesting the dunderhead so openly and rightly so! After all our tendency towards self-preservation is one of our House's most defining traits."

_Pleading Potter's case to my friends, I'm sure my eleven year old self probably would have a few choice words for me if he could see me now..._

However, Draco had not finished his defence of Harry yet. Much as he would have had preferred not to make his case directly at the banquet, the faces of the surrounding Slytherins discretely tilted in their direction, scrutinising the body language of the five first years... The Malfoy heir knew that securing, if not his friend's support, then, at the very least, their reluctant tolerance of the Chosen One, would go a very long way to integrate Harry into the existing Slytherin power structure.

"And since you asked, there isn't all that much to tell about our first meeting, really. We ran into each other by coincidence at Madame Malkins' and had a rather nice chat... Even exchanged one or two owls since then. I honestly didn't expect much to come from it after the whole Weasley debacle and even before then our diverging House alliances would have been difficult to reconcile. But now that he's one of our housemates I think it would be in all of our best interest to demonstrate a sense of unity."

Pressing his point further, Draco leaned slightly forward, meeting Pansy's sceptical expression with a pointed look towards the Gryffindor table. "You three saw Weasley's face after the Sorting... Given our House's arguably sinister reputation it's only a matter of time until the rest of the school either turns against Potter or claims that we're corrupting their precious Saviour. In times like this we should have each other's back, publicly as well as in private, if only to disprove the naysayers. In the end we are all Slytherins! We take care of our own."

Reactions varied in the strained silence that had settled over the group after Draco's words had eventually registered with them. Theo looked as inscrutable as ever, obviously reserving his judgement until one of the girls had delivered their verdict. Daphne appeared more amused at the improbability of the whole situation than incensed at Draco's proposal and only Pansy gave a believable impression of having just bitten into an acid pop as she struggled to find an argument against her friend's line of reasoning.

"It's alright, Draco, I..."

Harry spoke up, eyes downcast and voice lowered to an apologetic whisper. His subdued demeanour making Draco wonder whether this version of Harry James Potter had ever had someone stand up for him? To defend him regardless of the circumstances? How often had his sorry excuse of a family let him down? Had made him feel worthless until the boy had even begun to believe it himself? Skewed his perception of the world until the merest sign of basic human decency directed towards him felt monumental and even worse somewhat unwarranted.

_Damn, talk about Hufflepuff sentimentality..._

_"_ Oh shut it, Potter!" Pansy hissed dangerously, as she stared at the raven haired wizard before her features morphed into an expression of utmost incredulity. "Salazar, you don't even understand it, do you? You've got no idea how different all of this could have played out if it wasn't for Draco... Many of the people at this very table have relatives in Azkaban as a direct consequence of the Dark Lord's fall. Family members left to rot on a freezing island in the North Sea, easy prey for insanity and decay and still the entire House welcomed you. Publicly acknowledged you as one of their own. Draco's aunt..."

_Gods, Bellatrix can remain in there for all eternity for all I care._

_"_ Pansy!" The indignant outcry was quickly followed by a muffled sound beneath the table, as Daphne's shoe collided with Pansy's shin prompting the dark-haired witch to glare at her friend in annoyance. Rubbing her leg as she continued in a marginally less confrontational way.

"And I wouldn't even dislike you for that alone, but over the last few hours you haven't exactly given me any reason to be overly fond of you, have you? Still, Draco is asking us..." She made an indistinct move with her hand, indicating herself, Theo and Daphne. "Friends who've known him since basically forever, to give you the benefit of the doubt. So if I were you I'd keep quiet and accept whatever support he has so miraculously decided to afford you."

"Draco's got a point, though. The other students, Weasley in particular, will expect us to shun Potter, if not for being a half-blood then for his well-known family affiliations and I for my part think there's no better way to extract our revenge on the Gryffindors than to prove them to be the mindless hypocrites that they are." Daintily placing the silverware on her plate, the blonde witch reached for her glass, covering the cheshire grin that had spread across her face at the thought of annoying their rival House. "Anyway, you really don't have to act like an overprotective mama dragon, Pansy. Fever or not, Draco is a Malfoy... He can very well fend for himself."

"I do not..."

"Yes you do..." Raising his arms in surrender at Pansy's sputtering protest, Theo ventured quietly, eyes gliding across the rows of Slytherin students. "Which is quite understandable after the summer we three had, but questioning his judgement when we've never done so before isn't going to keep him out of harms way. If anything it'll weaken his position amongst the older Slytherins, causing far more trouble than this whole disagreement is worth. Family allegiances aside, Potter seems to be alright for now."

"Fine, whatever..." With a resigned huff the darkhaired witch relented. "Consider your apology accepted, Potter... Always provided that you afford Hermione the same curtesy I'll even agree to give you the benefit of the doubt, but tolerance and acceptance are two vastly different things, you'd do very well to remember that!"

_Well, that's not exactly a rousing endorsement, but the whole thing could have ended worse._

_Finite incantatem._

Deliberating that they had settled the most contested part of their conversation, Draco lifted the Muffliato spell, just as Harry asked with a slight frown. "Hermione... She's the one, who... Oh." Sheepishly, Harry averted his gaze, before it snapped towards the Ravenclaw table. Quickly singling out the bushy haired witch amongst a haggle of first years, an effort that was undoubtedly aided by the fact that Hermione had been keeping an eye on their discussion for quite some time. An undefinable multitude of emotions flickering across her youthful features, betraying just how difficult it must be for her to see the eleven year old incarnation of the friend she had lost not all too long ago.

_Harry isn't Potter._

Everyone who had known Potter beyond the superficial propaganda on either side of the Second Wizarding War would find as much glaringly obvious. And whilst that fundamental truth was a definitive improvement in Draco's book, he had retained enough of his empathy to acknowledge just how difficult it must be for the former Gryffindor Princess to confront the living, breathing prove that her best friend was well and truly dead. A haunting memory of a future that had become forever lost to them.

_Granted... My revelation about his relatives' abuse probably did not help._

_"_ Pansy is right, you know? Hermione deserves an apology... In fact they both do. A proper one, not all that improvised stammering you tried earlier. There was a certain charm to it I suppose, but as a Slytherin you'll be held to a much higher standard." Suppressing a chuckle at the boy's alarmed expression, Draco reached for a slice of the apple pie that had appeared on the table amongst all the other desserts. Time to introduce Harry to one of the finer aspects of pureblood culture. "Look, Panse you'll need to sort out by yourself... I won't compromise the integrity of my time tested strategies to appease her, but I can probably help you with finding a present for Hermione."

"A present. Like... flowers or something? Or sweets?"

"I suppose, although I'm afraid that won't quite cut it in your case. If you were proficient in traditional flower language, then you could substitute the apology letter with a carefully chosen bouquet but I'd not recommend it in this particular set of circumstances and sweets are just way too generic. Books might be an option... Even though you'd be running the risk of presenting her with one she's already read. Perhaps an eagle quill set with blue ornaments? It's her favourite colour and especially fitting now that she's been sorted into Ravenclaw... We can send a letter to Scribbulus first thing tomorrow."

"Are there any..." However Potter's question was cut off by the sudden appearance of the Bloody Baron right in front of him. Spooking the poor boy in the process, who dissolved into a coughing fit of epic proportions as soon as the grim House ghost of Slytherin, silvery white bloodstains spattered all across his opaque robes materialised in the free spot at Theo's side. Even Pansy had to crack a smile at that, whilst Hermione and Draco exchanged amused glances across the tables, allowing the levity of the moment to temporarily distract them from the monumental task they had ahead of them.

Once everyone had finished their dinner the headmaster rose again, spreading his arms wide to silence the room. "Ahern... Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

_Oh, here we go..._

_"_ First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Inevitably Dumbledore's gaze darted towards the Weasley twins, wellknown perpetrators of endless mischief. Draco's own memories of the Dark Forest were altogether less than pleasant, beginning with the detention he had served there alongside the Golden Trio. Cold air hitting his face as they moved through the trees until he and Potter had practically stumbled over the dying unicorn and the vile creature preying on it. Looking at it in retrospect, he probably should not have been as surprised at the revelation that it had actually been the vengeful spirit of the Dark Lord, surrounded by suffocating darkness even when he had been reduced to a mere shadow of his former self.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

_As if anyone has ever bothered to follow that rule..._

_"_ Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch." Despite the fact that Quidditch was usually not a subject to warrant much consideration during the first year at Hogwarts, Draco shot Harry a thoughtful look. As much as it might have hurt his pride to admit it at the time Potter had been a good seeker, a great one even and establishing his eleven year old self on the Slytherin House team could help to gain some support amongst their older classmates. Unfortunately, the odds that Severus would allow one of his first years, Harry James Potter in particular to join the team were virtually nonexistent.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

_And there it is... Dumbledore's brilliant scheme. Keeping a Cerberus in a school filled with curious children, warding the door with the simplest locking spell in existence, and then cross your fingers and hope no one will get hurt. And for what? To lure the Dark Lord into a trap? Even if uncle Sev's Dark Mark didn't react to his immediate proximity, Dumbledore had almost a year to find out that Quirrel was a fraud!_

To his left he heard Harry chuckle awkwardly, drawing the attention of the surrounding Slytherins, even if some of the other first years like Millicent Bullstrode, Lily Moon and Tracy Davies appeared to be on the fence, whether to take the headmaster seriously or not. Realising that none of his peers seemed to share his amusement, he muttered, his words accompanied by a heavily confused look at the serious expression of their older housemates. "He can't be serious, can he?"

"Got to be." Pucey answered pensively, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he exchanged unreadable looks with Gemma and Warrington. "Although he evidently hasn't deemed it necessary to inform us prefects about his reasons, which is rather unusual even by Dumbledore's questionable standards. I'd imagine that Lord Malfoy might know more about it? Those kind of decisions usually require the agreement of the board of governors."

"Usually being the operative word in this instance I presume, but I guess I can inquire if father knows anything more specific." The blond wizard agreed with a nod, just as the headmaster cried loudly, much to the obvious displeasure of the other teachers whose smiles had become rather fixed. Knowing what was about to come, Draco certainly could not find it in himself to blame them for their less than enthusiastic response. "And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"

Dumbledore gave the Elder wand a little flick, conjuring a long golden ribbon that twisted into the lyrics of the chant, stating with an all too serene smile. "Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

* * *

 

"Viper tooth."

As soon as the words had left Farley's mouth, the bare stonewall in front of the group of first years transformed, the outlines of a hidden door becoming visible. Then it slid back, revealing the handful of shallow steps that lead down into the generous space of the Slytherin common room. A perfectly ordinary sight, but as Draco followed Farley and Pucey through the dark doorway he could feel a weight lifting from his shoulders, almost as if his mind had refused to believe that Hogwarts was indeed entirely restored until he had entered the very heart of Slytherin's power.

Subtle vibrations of magic hummed through the air, enveloping Draco with a comforting feeling of familiarity and belonging. Strengthening his core in a way that should not have been possible, given that the Malfoy heir had no existing claim to the magic of Salazar Slytherin, almost as if the castle itself recognised the title he had once held, the power he had once commanded within this very halls.

_Slytherin's Prince._

However, before Draco had the time to work through the implications of his deductions, they had reached the common room where the entirety of Slytherin's members was already awaiting the first year's arrival just as tradition demanded. Lined up by class and power, last year's court at its centre and in front of them Severus Snape, pale face illuminated by the greenish blue light of the lanterns that lit up the room and the large windows that allowed a direct view into the deepest depths of the Black Lake.

Once all ten first year students had filed into the room, eery silence hanging in the air, the potion's master stated slowly, his sharp voice carrying effortlessly through the room. "Slytherin House. Members of the court. We have assembled here tonight to welcome the newest additions to our most noble House. Students filled with ambition, who prefer cunning and calculation to brashness and brute force, who value intelligence and resourcefulness and appreciate the strength of true leadership. Millicent Bulstrode. Vincent Crabbe. Tracy Davis. Gregory Goyle. Daphne Greengrass. Draco Malfoy. Lily Moon. Theodore Nott. Pansy Parkinson. Harry Potter. Merry meet, we are proud to see you in our midst."

"Merry meet." The other students intoned, their collective voices echoing from the darkly glistening stonewalls, as they completed the speech, sealing the ancient rite of first acceptance. A low hiss of approval came from the finely chiseled stone snakes carved into the walls around them as Slytherin's magic pulsated through the room. Responding to the concentrated energy the other house members had called upon, and Draco could more feel than see Harry stiffen at his side, presumably because he had understood whatever the stony reptiles had had to say.

_Speaking Parsel tongue must be fascinating, though a little impractical whilst navigating the muggle world._

Dark, beady eyes flashed in Draco's direction, before the Potion's master continued. "Now that you've officially been accepted amongst our ranks, a few words of introduction. Slytherin is a House of many traditions but most importantly we protect our own. Whatever petty squabbles you lot engage in, we Slytherins present a united front against all outside threats. More major disagreements are settled by the members of the court and after the rites have been completed by our newly crowned Prince, whose authority is only superseded by myself as your Head of House."

_Technically only as long as the Prince is a third year or older, but it makes sense that Severus would neglect to mention that. Pucey is the most promising candidate so far and he's a fifth year..._

_"_ Being a member of this House is an honour and I expect each and everyone of you to conduct yourself accordingly. Subpar performance in your classes is not going to be tolerated, otherwise you will be assigned to one of the various tutoring programs some of the older students have been so generous to establish." With a slight smirk curling around the corners of his lips Severus elaborated, gaze trailing from left to right. "The art of potion making, my humble area of expertise, is by no means exception, if anything you will be held to a much higher standard than all the other dunderheads I have the utter displeasure of teaching. You would do very well not to disappoint me."

"Officially I am bound to implore you to dutifully observe the rules the headmaster has instated. Unofficially I'll only say this much: Don't get caught and if you do, don't expect me to clean up after you. As for the headmaster's announcement tonight, I can only reiterate the importance not to enter the corridor on the third floor, lest you want to risk a violent death or at the very least my wrath. That goes for all of you, by the way! May Salazar guide you all on your path to greatness."

Turning to his two most influential Slytherin prefects, black robes pillowing around him, Draco's godfather requested. "Miss Farley, Mister Pucey. I'll trust you two to lead our newcomers to their respective dormitories. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day for all of us." Almost as an afterthought Severus added. "Mister Potter, if you would stay back for a minute? I'd like to have a word before you may join your colleagues and Mister Malfoy, you as well? There are a handful of scheduling issues we need to discuss."

_Scheduling issues? Salazar, uncle Sev, you can do better than that..._

Both Gemma and Pucey responded with a respectful bow, returning to the ten first years, as the welcoming committee disbanded, students slowly disappearing through the two doorways at the end of the room. Out of experience, Draco knew that most would meet up in their dormitories, celebrating the return to school over a few glasses of smuggled firewhiskey, exchanging stories of their summer until the early morning hours and getting through their first day of school on a strong dose of pepperup potion.

_Blaise used to be the life of these parties... Even managed to get me drunk in sixth year, where I was doing my best to keep all of them at a safe distance._

With a reassuring smile Draco waved off the questioning looks of Pansy and Daphne, waiting together with a rather fidgety Harry, until the two groups had flocked out of the room. He was almost tempted to feel sorry for Theo, all alone with Crabbe and Goyle, but then he remembered Blaise's pained expression as the Cruciatus curse burned through his body and whatever sympathy he might have held vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

_It's one thing to rationally separate this Theo from his older counterpart but doing so emotionally will take a whole lot longer than two short months._

Once the last student had left the common room Severus led Harry and Draco to the second window on the right hand side, which on first glance, showed nothing except the usual lake panorama in all its greenish blue glory. Underwater plants warring for whatever lost ray of light found its path all the way to the bottom of the lake's shadowy waters. In the distance you could see swarm of gryndelows being hunted by a pair of merpeople, their dark tridents poised to strike and in the right hand corner you could even make out the outlines of a tentacle of the giant squid.

On closer inspection however the scene proved much more interesting than allowing a mere glance into the life beneath the Black Lake. The scenery deceptively lifelike but stationary... Frozen out of place and time until Severus raised his Hawthorn wand, causing the colours to blur until they reassembled to form a portrait of a giant snake that bowed its head in reverence before the wall swung aside, revealing a short corridor. Its path leading into an octagonal room with a stone table of the same shape at its centre, completed with eight wooden chairs, one of them notably higher than the others. A portrait of Merlin himself hung directly above it, unlike most of the traditional depictions showing the powerful wizard at age sixteen a simple silver band crowning his head as he stared unblinkingly at the newcomers.

Draco just like so many Slytherin rulers before him had never heard him talk and certainly not for a lack of trying. According to legend he had taken an oath of silence, only to be lifted once the House required his guidance once again. Bloody unlikely if you asked the blond, otherwise Merlin would have broken his inactivity a long time ago. Others thought Morgana had cursed him with her last breath damning him to hold silent sigil over Slytherin's seat of power as they disavowed his muggle loving legacy.

Another wall was filled with signatures, immortalising every Slytherin ruler since Salazar himself. Malfoys and Blacks alike had left their mark on the stone, embedded in a seemingly random assortment of ornaments and runes that allowed the keepers of its secrets to decipher the wizard's respective standing in Slytherins hierarchy. Merlin. Regulus Black the First, Alexander Malfoy, Tom Marvolo Riddle and there, a bit to the right had once been Draco's own handwriting. Now there was nothing, just empty stone, illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

_The Council Chamber._

During the original timeline, Draco had spent more hours than he could count down here, devising strategies on how to deal with the unique challenges their House had been facing at the time. Discussing with Farley how to curb the spike in hostility against their House following the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets. Speculating with Pucey about Lupin's mysterious affliction. After his fourth year things had taken an even darker turn, the stakes rising from predominantly school-intern subjects to matters far beyond the usual day to day business of House rivalry and balancing the diverging interests of the powerful families.

Projecting unequivocal support for the recently resurrected Dark Lord had become imperative, not only because of Lucius' insistence but also in order to shield the minority of Slytherin halfbloods as well as the children of the families who had insisted on remaining neutral from harm. Being regarded as one of the Dark Lord's most faithful had kept challenges to Draco's authority to a minimum, even when he argued that a questionable blood status and parental loyalties should only be treated as minor offences within the House.

_Somewhat strange that Severus would take us here when he could have just as easily ushered us to his office. Allowing Potter access to one of Slytherins secret rooms seems rather counterintuitive given his general attitude towards the boy._

Perfectly on cue Severus addressed the two children, stern features schooled into an unreadable mask as he pointed to the three chairs closest to them. "Have a seat." After all three of them had settled into their seats, Harry spoke up, voice laced with barely hidden uncertainty although he seemed to take a certain level of comfort in Draco's presence. "Sir... I don't understand. Have I done something wrong?"

"Not necessarily, Mister Potter." Adopting an air of strained professionalism the potion master let his dark gaze linger, eyes widening a fraction at the boy's almost skittish demeanour. "However, I will not pretend that the unforeseeable circumstances of your Sorting have not come with their unique set of difficulties. As Head of Slytherin House it is my foremost duty to ensure the safety of my students. All of my students, which, for reasons far beyond my control and understanding, now include yourself."

Somewhat abruptly, Severus' head snapped in the direction of Merlin's portrait, before once again fixating on Harry with his unflinching gaze. "I asked you to join me here, at the heart of Slytherins power, an embodiment of its proud legacy. Generations of students have passed through this room before you, many of which went on to shape the path of history in one way or another."

_For better or worse..._

_"_ Ambition. Resourcefulness. Cunning. Those are the values Slytherin embodies, the ideals your housemates are taught to embrace and strive for. For your own benefit I can only advise you to do the same, to chose self-preservation and subtlety over whatever delusions of self aggrandisement and exceptionalism your celebrity status might have given you cause to expect... Do you understand?"

_Obviously not!_

At least judging by Harry's confused reaction, who sent a helpless look in Draco's direction, visibly intimidated by the potion's master cold demeanour. However, knowing full well that any intervention on his part would do nothing to endear the boy to his godfather, the blond simply raised one of his eyebrows expectantly, prompting the other boy to stammer. "No... Not really, sir. I've... I've never expected any kind of special treatment."

"How very disappointing..." With a hint of exasperation, Draco's godfather elaborated, dark eyes no doubt registering the way Potter flinched at the wizard's thinly veiled reproach. "To put it in more blunt terms, many of your housemates regard your presence as an unforgivable affront against the legacy their parents fought to preserve. Mister Malfoy's well-timed intervention might have kept them from professing their views openly, but any misstep, even the slightest sign that the Sorting hat could have misjudged your character and they will do their best to destroy you."

_An adequate assessment, if a little fatalistic for my taste._

_"_ Therefore, and I simply can't stress this point enough, Mister Potter, I implore you to refrain from any displays that could be interpreted as Gryffindor foolishness. Salazar knows, your situation is precarious enough as it is." Features twisting into a pained grimace, the potions master added sourly. "For now my orders might serve as an effective deterrent, but both, my goodwill and my influence have their limitations and I refuse to exhaust my entire political capital for a child who does not even value my advise. Have I made myself clear?"

_Well, that's a pleasant surprise..._

Regardless of his godfather's contemptuous phrasing, the last few sentences strongly inferred that he had gone out of his way to ensure Harry's safety in Slytherin. Well, at least for the time being... Power balances would inevitably begin to shift once the candidates had declared their intent to claim the throne and even more so as soon as the new prince was crowned, which made integrating the boy into the house structure all the more urgent.

For the very first time since Draco had met this younger version of his former rival, the Malfoy heir could see a familiar glint of defiance lighting up Harry's bright green eyes, the rise of his shoulders as he readied himself to demand answers to the myriad of questions that were undoubtedly swirling through his mind. However, at the very last moment he seemed to think better of it, gaze dropping as he swallowed heavily.

"Yes... sir."

There was a passing moment where Draco noticed a glimmer of satisfaction at Potter's apparent submission flashing across his godfather's face, but the older wizard quickly schooled his features back into indifference. "Very well." Waving in the direction of one of the high book shelves that lined the other walls, filled with ancient tomes about political strategy, the Dark Arts and Slytherin's history. It swung open revealing a very narrow pathway that Draco knew to lead directly to the boy's dormitory. "You can join your fellow dorm mates now, Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy will follow you shortly."

Harry stood up, but swayed indeterminately on the spot, visibly reluctant to leave the two of them alone and Draco had to bite his tongue not to laugh at the boy's glaring lack of subtlety. Whatever Slytherin traits the Sorting hat had thought to have seen in Golden Boy's mind still very much eluded the Malfoy heir. Not to mention the interesting implication that the original Potter must have held the same potential to get sorted into the house he had so dearly despised. "I'll... I'll see you in the dorm, Dra... Malfoy?"

_Salazar, Potter and I sharing a dorm would have been a recipe for disaster in the original timeline..._

Mouth twitching at the thought, Draco inclined his head. "Of course, Potter." Apparently satisfied with the blond wizard's easygoing response, the eleven year old bowed stiffly in Severus general direction, a surprisingly accurate imitation of proper pureblood etiquette, even if it would need some refinement. Then he walked off towards the doorway, the sound of his receding steps the only noise that reverberated through the dimly lit room.

"Lucius' idea, I suppose?" Bitterness and tired resignation had crept into his godfather's voice as he breathed out the name of his longtime sponsor in a rare display of resentment. Still barely noticeable if you were merely an acquaintance of the reserved potions master, just a minuscule shift of his cadence, but Draco knew Severus Snape better than most people, better than anyone perhaps, with the exception of Narcissa and had observed his godfather's darkening mood all summer. Had seen the shadows crossing his features at the mere reference to the Lord of the most ancient and noble House of Malfoy, dark rage simmering just beneath the icy surface.

_Maman must have told him about Lucius... Not everything, I hope, but evidently enough to make uncle Sev more protective and far more transparent than he probably realises._

_"_ Technically..." Draco hedged, studiously regarding his fingernails while his mind was racing to reevaluate his options based on his more recent deductions. Leaving Severus in the belief that his godson's interest in the Chosen One was merely an attempt to satisfy Lucius' insatiable desire to accumulate power held the least potential to result in conflict between the two of them. However, given Severus' attempts at shielding Potter from the wrath of the older Slytherin students and the impact Narcissa's disclosure of Lucius' past misdeeds might have had on him, there was a chance that he would be more receptive to a plea on Harry's behalf than Draco had expected.

Eventually the newly sorted Slytherin settled for noncommittal commentary that was neither lie nor truth, just omitting some quite essential parts of the story. It had been a bloody long day, fraught with unexpected twists and turns: Some of them pleasantly surreal, like his rapport with the former Gryffindor Princess and others devastating, like learning about Luna's blindness. A fight with his godfather was the very last thing Draco needed right now.

"He seems to operate under the assumption that befriending the boy would further our family's interests. Harry Potter, 'Saviour of the Wizarding World' allied to the most influential pureblood family in Britain... Not the most complicated scheme but I've certainly got to admire father's flair for dramatics."

"Ambitious even by Lucius' usual standards..."

"I suppose complaining about it would be rather hypocritical, seeing as it was only your quick intervention at the feast that kept Slytherin from public embarrassment. Nonetheless, I want you to be careful, Draco. Do not let emotional attachment get in the way of rationality... Potter's very existence is a guarantee for trouble and I will not have you play collateral out of a misguided sense of loyalty."

"Oh ye of little faith..." Pressing his palms against his chest Draco drawled with an amused grin, although he had a pretty good idea why Severus had found it necessary to issue such a warning. "You wound me uncle Sev. Have I ever given you reason to doubt my good judgement? One would think you trusted my instincts, now that I'm finally an official member of your House."

"Granted, although, you certainly took your time. Which reminds me..."

Severus brandished his Hawthorn wand and gave it a little flick, summoning two silver cups filled with a generous amount of clear honey-coloured liquid which sparkled in the greenish light around them. Filling the air with fresh scented sweetness.

_Ambrosia._

A celebratory drink, like elf-wine and aged fire whiskey, but of such rarity that pureblood families only indulged in it on momentous occasions like the birth of an heir or the ascendence of a new pater familias, since its only known source was controlled by an ancient Greek family. Living isolated in the wilderness, and limiting their exports to only five carafes per annum. Procuring even half a cup must have cost his godfather a small fortune.

"...We have reason to celebrate." The potion's master waved impatiently, as if the quick hand movement would help to dispel any lingering thoughts concerning the raven haired Slytherin before he raised his cup to a toast. "Welcome to Slytherin, Draco. May the Old Gods and the New guide you on the path of greatness. May Destiny bless you with her favour and the Fates keep you from harm."

_Uncle Sev..._

Blessings were magic old as Time herself, tricky little things with vague wordings and more than questionable reward and yet it was considered a high honour to be on the receiving end of one. Swallowing the thick lump that had formed in his throat Draco took a sip of the golden drink, revelling in the rush of strength it sent through his veins, turning the creeping sense of exhaustion that had settled deep within his bones in comforting contentedness. "Uncle Sev... You didn't have to... Thank you. Truly."

"I only thought it appropriate given the circumstances..." Unwilling to give away any of his emotions, Severus stated, instantly reverting to his cold exterior. "As you can imagine, your Sorting caused quite the stir amongst my colleagues. Many of them will watch you carefully over the coming weeks. But enough with all the politics, tell me about your day. You seemed rather close with a certain Miss Granger during the Sorting and I was wondering how you two got so well acquainted."

_Merlin help me!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: First classes, so be prepared for a lot of showing off and catching up with Luna and of course Draco teaching Harry some of his history, because having no clue about his past is not exactly an option in Slytherin.
> 
> Please tell me what you thought of this chapter or what you are excited to read about in the upcoming chapters!


	15. The Pain in our Past Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry have a much needed chat and Hermione joins the Slytherins for breakfast.
> 
> And yet another Luna cliffhanger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Lovelies!
> 
> This chapter is a bit of a setup chapter for the rest of their first day of school but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless! 
> 
> On another note, since the response to this story has been so incredibly amazing so far, I was thinking about doing a ‘thank you’ oneshot, taking place somewhen during the original timeline. If you have any requests or ideas, please let me know in the comments... Be sure to include the POV character/s as well as the broad plot point. My own thoughts were something along the lines of a Weasley family member during the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, or Blaise’s relationship with Charlie, but there are no limits as far as I’m concerned...
> 
> Depending on participation, I’ll select one directly or let you choose one of my three favourites after the next chapter ;)
> 
> All the love,
> 
> Lena
> 
> PS: I don’t own Harry Potter

_‘Mudblood'_

_Agony distorted Granger face, her voice reduced to a broken whimper bereft of any sign of fight or liveliness, her body convulsing on the drawing room floor as Bella dragged the cursed blade across the pale expanse of her exposed forearm. The dark witch's cackling laughter rang through the air, her dark eyes glinting with manic glee as she spelled out the slur, wielding the dark dagger with deliberate cruelty, thriving on the pain and humiliation she was inflicting on her helpless victim._

_Every fibre of Draco's being screamed at him to look away, to escape into the recesses of his mind as he had done uncounted times before, blissfully numb to the waking nightmare his life had become. Awareness hurt too much... Left his humanity shattered into pieces that would never quite fit back together. Damaged beyond repair. Beyond any hopes of redemption._

_This time was different._

_She was different._

_He deserved to see._

_Deserved to suffer._

_To remember her screams._

_His thoughts consumed by her pain._

_Then Granger turned her head just a fraction, liquid amber burning into his unflinching grey, an accusation that did not need any words, any explanation to be conveyed._

_"Please... Draco."_

_Her whisper thundered in his ears._

_Draco._

_Hermione._

His eyes shot open to a room shrouded in darkness, Hermione's broken plea still echoing in his ears, an entirely new variation of his usual nightmares about that fateful day at Malfoy Manor that Draco could have very easily done without. Not that the whole unfortunate affair had come as much of a surprise, really. It did not take a comprehensive understanding of the human psyche to figure that returning to Hogwarts, coming face to face with so many of the ghosts that haunted his past, would only add fire to his nightly torment.

Salazar knew, Draco had been rather tempted to smooth his night over with a small sip of Dreamless Sleep. Just enough to take the edge off. However, utilising potions to keep his demons at bay was hardly a viable longtime solution, hardly more than a night's reprieve before the horror returned with a vengeance. Well, at least if you wanted to avoid the slippery slope that led straight into dependancy and addiction.

_Still... Acting responsibly sucks sometimes!_

Inhaling a slightly shaky breath Draco sat up abruptly, his heart racing in his chest, sheets rustling. The mere shift of his weight on the mattress enough to inadvertently startle poor Atalanta awake, who released a low hiss of protest. Sharp claws digging into the blanket, before the little menace stretched her paws and tilted her head questioningly in his direction. Her, at this point, familiar mental presence touching his mind and projecting an image of the day Draco had bought her, her mind overflowing with so much contentment and warmth, that the blond released an involuntary chuckle. His mental voice infused with fondness as it rang through the bond the two of them had established.

 _Vixen_.

Apologetically the blond wizard reached out, blindly petting the cat's tawny fur, a placating gesture Atalanta seemed to appreciate, since she melted into his touch. Low purring sounds reverberating in the not quite quiet, mingling with the snoring that came from somewhere far down to his left and Theo's constant tossing and turning on the bed to his right.

 _Nightmares_.

_Hopefully not of the torture variety and yet..._

Theo's restlessness inevitably served as a rather uncomfortable, but nothing less poignant reminder that the young Nott heir had far more in common with Draco than he had been prepared to contemplate up to this point.

_No, if I'm perfectly honest with myself, I knew that much already..._

Draco's claim that the two of them had been close as brother's once, was by no means an exaggeration on his part. Their bond based on an unspoken understanding of each others circumstances, shared knowledge of the more harmful aspects of pureblood society, given that both of them were the only heirs of an ancient bloodline. Both raised to uphold their families longstanding legacy and whilst the blond wizard had reason to doubt that Theodore Nott Sr. shared Lucius penchant for sadistic mind-games, the Head of the Nott family had always made it blatantly obvious that he considered Theo to be nothing but a failure, unworthy of his attention, never mind his respect.

_What would Theo've done if our roles were reversed?_

_If my future self had tried to sell out Blaise? Had planned on abandoning him to Bellatrix' warped idea of fun?_

_Would he have given up on our friendship? On me? Or would he have tried to save me from turning my back on all the values he thought we once shared?_

Resigned to the fact that sleep would not bless him again, Draco's gaze was drawn towards the silvery light that emanated from his nightstand, tracking the path of the whitely glowing sand as it ran through the twisted neck of the magical hourglass. Initially it had been a gift Daphne had given him for his tenth birthday, the sand intended to build an intricately detailed landscape that reflected parts of his surroundings. Like now, where it was supposed to show the entirety of the Black Lake with the castle throning on the hill above instead of taking the shape of a wounded unicorn, its side torn open by long pointed thorn... To call the image eery would have been and understatement, not that Draco wasted much thought on its meaning.

_6 am._

_Well, that certainly could have been worse._

Five hours of sleep was actually quite passable given the circumstances and with about half an hour to go until sunrise, there was still enough time to put his plan for this morning into motion. Careful, so as not to disturb the other boys, Draco slipped out of his bed, bare skin meeting the surprisingly warm stone floor, as his eyes swept over his surroundings. Hindered, unfortunately, by the fact that the bluish green light that flittered through the large, old fashioned windows with their carefully arranged mosaic of glass, hardly sufficed to illuminate the room beyond shadowy outlines.

 _Lumos_.

Light flooded the room as Draco pushed the barest flicker of energy into the spell, keeping the warm light that blossomed on the tip of his Cherry Wand carefully muted. The Slytherin first year dorm, no longer hidden in the shadows, was rather spacious. Hewn directly into the underwater cliffside of the Black Lake and artfully decorated in the colours of Slytherin House. Emerald and silver against the backdrop of dark wood and grey stone, five fourposter beds seamlessly fitted into the walls and surrounded by curtains in order to give the occupants the illusion of privacy.

Stealthily, Draco moved towards his school trunk, which was located at the end of his bed and quietly retrieved one vial of Pepperup Potion for himself and after a moment's consideration a tiny bottle of Calming Draught, which he placed on Theo's nightstand. Adding a quickly penned note of instructions, in which he advised the boy to take one sip at most, otherwise the brew would not last him longer than a couple of days.

_In the end he's just a kid..._

_My friend._

_I owe him the chance to grow into a different man than the one he was at the very end._

After he had finished Draco crossed over to Harry's bed, Atalanta following him on her soft paws like a ghostly shadow and hopping onto the sheets as he pushed back the thick velvet curtains. The Chosen One was actually lying there somewhat peacefully, a fact that gave the Malfoy heir fairly little comfort as he took the time to study the form of the sleeping boy, who was practically disappearing in the overly large muggle shirt that hung loosely from his frame. Painfully thin lines cast into even sharper relief now that they were not hidden beneath the formal school uniform and voluminous black robes.

And there on the inside of his left forearm was the slowly fading outline of a bluish green bruise that added even more credibility to Draco's darker suspicions regarding Potter's muggle relatives. Weaving a precautionary spell around them, he leaned forward and reached for the shoulder of the eleven year old, gently prying him awake. Given his knowledge of Harry's home-live and his overall skittish demeanour, there was no way to tell how he would react to being shaken awake before the crack of dawn.

"Potter."

"Potter, wake up!"

"P... Please, uncle Vernon..." Fear coloured Harry's voice as his eyes flew open, hands coming up in front of his face with a well practised ease that made Draco's blood run cold with fury, even though he refrained from commenting on the matter. Handling topics such as these required a certain delicacy and perhaps even more importantly a modicum of shared trust. More trust, than could easily be established over the course of a single evening, as eventful as it might have been and even then, there was a rather substantial chance that Harry would initially resist any inquiry into his life outside of Hogwarts.

_One step at a time..._

_Salazar, now that uncle Sev is officially his Head of House he needs to be included into our plans to get the boy away from those awful muggle relatives of his. Although gaining McGonnagall's support is still as important as ever, at least if we want to simultaneously weaken Dumbledore's position._

"Draco?"

Suddenly all the tension seemed to drain out of the boy's willowy shoulders, the heart-wrenching panic that had marred his features earlier, replaced by a much more focused sense of urgency, as he pushed himself up on his elbows, one hand blindly reaching for the glasses that were carelessly placed on his nightstand. Blinking owlishly against the light that emanated from Draco's wand, once he had managed to put them on. "Good god... What... I'm late for class, aren't I?"

Lightly tipping his finger against his lips, accompanied with a pointed look in the direction of the sleeping first years, Draco shook his head bemusedly, not entirely sure if he was not supposed to feel offended at the implication that none of the Slytherin boys would have cared to wake Harry up in time for breakfast. "Gosh, Potter... No! Don't get your wand in a twist. No one's going to wake for another twenty minutes or so, when the sun begins to rise. Besides, the Slytherin first years attend their mealtimes as a group... Letting you oversleep isn't worth missing my morning tea, thank you very much."

"Then why..."

_Because, thanks to a manipulative headmaster with as of yet indiscernible motives, you, my friend, are woefully unprepared for the task of navigating this world, never mind the snake pit! And if we aren't going to rectify that soon Slytherin might just swallow you whole in which case Hermione would never, ever talk to me again..._

_Selfish as I am, I simply don't think I'm strong enough to let go of this surreal world where the Golden Girl is calling me by my given name or studying me with those all too expressive amber eyes. Where she appears willing to see me for the man I've become and not the boy I once was._

_Besides, to my never-ending astonishment, I actually like you well enough._

Shrugging diplomatically, the Malfoy heir stated evenly, banking on the educated guess that after yesterday the Boy Who Lived was sufficiently frustrated by his lack of knowledge about his own past. Hopefully Harry would bounce on any offer that was promising to get him some much needed answers, whilst Draco would have the opportunity to casually incorporate lessons on the day to day politics of Slytherin House and Wizarding society as a whole. "I figured you would have more than a fair share of questions after yesterday."

Biting back a self satisfied grin at the eager light that immediately entered the eleven year old's bright green eyes at the prospect of getting to ask all the questions that must have been whirling through his mind, the blond raised his eyebrows as he hedged. "Of course if you'd much rather go back to sleep..."

"No!" Harry's overly enthusiastic exclamation was loud enough to draw a disgruntled grunt from Goyle's bed, earning the boy a disapproving look from Draco. Sheepishly ducking his head, the raven-haired boy shied a bit away, as he replied in a much more composed manner, despite the fact that he still managed to trip over his own words. "I mean... No uh... yeah, it would be rather nice to get some answers."

Rising from the bed Draco, made a quick wave of his hand in the direction of the other beds. "Do come on then, Potter, let's find a place where we have a bit more privacy." Eyeing the boy's worn-out muggle attire critically, he corrected himself. "Well, perhaps, we'll do that right after changing into our school uniforms... Gallivanting through the tunnels of Slytherin in muggle clothes is exactly the kind of unwanted attention, Professor Snape told you to avoid."

_Ugh._

_Calling Severus 'Professor Snape' feels much more unnatural than I remember it being._

Minutes later the unlikely pair of first years emerged from the bathroom they shared with the second year boys, freshened up and both already dressed in their school robes, the Slytherin ties and badges proudly proclaiming their House allegiance as they glinted in the green torchlight. Harry fucking Potter, Gryffindor's Golden Boy walking stealthily through the longwinded corridors Draco used to call his home. He would have been lying if he claimed that observing the eleven year old version of his former school rival wearing emerald and silver was not a little bit jarring.

_Although it suits him far better than I'd have given him credit for._

Due to some adjustments on Draco's part the boy's appearance was almost, well not exactly what one could have called passable by pureblood standards, but nowhere near as messy as he remembered. Shirt straightened out, the lines of his robe pulled into place. Even the unruly mob of black hair was subtly altered into a somewhat more orderly form of chaos, kept in place by a slight dash of gel.

_Only 'almost' because those glasses, even repaired, look like Potter's muggle relatives bought them secondhand for a tenth of what glasses are supposed to cost and that's a rather generous estimate on my part._

Assimilating the boy into the much more image conscious Slytherins would be an uphill battle and Draco's fingers were itching to transfigure the loveless construct into something a bit more suitable. However, nothing would be won by overwhelming the poor boy, whose hands were already twitchy, now that his lightning shaped scar was on full display. Besides, if the blond wizard waited until after their first Transfiguration's class he would be able to pass it of as simple spell practice without openly making Harry feel self-conscious about the whole affair.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Potter." As if stung, the boy's hand jerked away from his forehead, awkwardly falling to his side, a guilty expression crossing his face at his companion's chastisement. "But..."

"People will stare at you? Whisper in the hallways? Base their entire opinion of you on an event that you can't even remember, because let's be honest, you were what? Fourteen months old, when the Dark Lord disappeared?" Harry nodded mutely, a noticeable shudder passing through his body at the mental images Draco's words had invoked. His subdued demeanour worlds apart from the attention seeking dunderhead the Malfoy heir had always thought Potter to be.

"Do you honestly think hiding your scar will stop any of that? Whether you care for the connotation of unreflected hero worship or not, you are the Boy Who Lived for Merlin's sake..." Draco trailed off, fighting to keep a hint of exasperation from seeping into his voice, repressing the part of him that wanted to call Potter a dunderhead for not realising that the other Slytherins would take it as a sign of weakness if he continued to hide his most recognisable feature.

_The symbol of his triumph over the Dark Lord._

In lieu of adding anything more on the subject, Draco's steps came to an abrupt halt, since they had thankfully reached the eerily lifelike statue of an attacking Runespoor, all three heads poised to strike. Wordlessly he stepped closer, reaching up to the central head, whose left eye had been replaced by a sparkling emerald. Prompting Atalanta to release a drawn-out hiss that just sounded way too threatening for the adorable fluffball the Malfoy heir knew her to be.

Cracking a lopsided smile in his cat’s direction, the blond wizard pushed against the green gem, prompting the snake's body to curl and twist as she slithered to the side, revealing the entryway to a steep staircase winding upwards through the stone. Yet another testament to the great thought that Salazar had put into the design of the rooms that would house his students for generations to come.

Truth be told, in his pre-Hogwarts days Draco had never quite understood the appeal of having Slytherin, the proudest of all the Houses, located in the unpleasant tristesse of the dungeons rather than, let's say Ravenclaw Tower, soaring high into the skies where their dorm rooms would have been sure to be flooded with natural light. Malfoy Manor's own underground prison with its damp walls, narrow cells and magic absorbing metal shackles, seemed to be anything but a conductive learning environment, never mind a place that would instil anyone with a sense of belonging.

_To say that the whole concept feels bloody counterintuitive would be putting it mildly..._

However, very soon after his initial arrival at Hogwarts, Draco had realised that calling the complicated maze of spacious chambers, hidden corridors, dimly lit alcoves, interlocking pathways and stairs in all varieties and sizes that stretched far beneath the waterline of the Black Lake, 'the dungeons' was indeed a grave oversimplification.

For one, it massively downplayed the sheer enormity of the castle's far reaching underground realm, a common misconception that, while perhaps not actively propagated by the House of Snakes, none of its members had ever bothered to correct. Content to rule their kingdom without having to fear any outward interference or nosy Gryffindor dunderheads intent on sniffing out their secrets.

_It certainly doesn't hurt that so many areas are hidden out of view. Protected by glamours or elaborate enchantments, which only grant access to a select few._

As a matter of fact, Draco himself, whose privileges as a young Slytherin Prince had included knowledge of many of the secret paths, was fairly certain that he had never even come close to uncovering half of the innumerable mysteries that lay buried within the boundaries of his domaine.

Furthermore, its uh... rather dreary connotation did not exactly do justice to the unexpected cultural richness that revealed itself with every further foray into the labyrinth of hidden paths. From the quiet alcoves, dedicated to the worship of the Old gods, the stony citadel with its turquoise stalactites, where the last untouched Ley lines of Hogwarts came together, to the natural caves closer to the surface, their walls filled with runes that were rumoured to predate the Founders themselves.

Granted, coziness and comfort were not exactly at the heart of Slytherin's design, but then the concept would not have fit well with the House's calculated mentality anyway. Instead it successfully managed to incorporate all the values Salazar had searched for in his students, allowing only those of great cunning to uncover its secrets and maximising the protection it provided to the members of Slytherin House.

_On that scale this exit is rather weakly protected, but no one's going to be there on our first day of school._

Following right behind Atalanta through the narrow doorway, Draco asked over his back, already moving along the climbing steps, up towards the surface. "You coming, Potter?" Hurried footsteps rang in the silence and soon afterwards the sound of stone gliding against stone as the snake returned to her old position.

Once the ravenhaired wizard had caught up to him, he breathed out, his youthful voice laced with a mixture of awe and incredulity. "How come that we've only spend one night in Slytherin and you already know exactly where to find a hidden passageway."

Without bothering to hide his sarcasm, the Malfoy heir drawled bemusedly. "Well, the fact that our Head of House is my godfather has most definitely nothing to do with it... And I told you at Madame Malkins' that being sorted into Slytherin was some sort of family tradition. Generations of Malfoys have been sorted into the same House. More than enough time to discover some of its ancient mysteries."

_Not that Lucius was particularly forthcoming about his findings, but some of the portraits at Malfoy Manor aren't all that adverse to chatting with one of their descendants..._

At the mention of the Malfoy family Harry swallowed thickly, green eyes darting sideways, searching the blond's face as if he could somehow gauge the answer to his unspoken question without actually having to put it into words. "Your family... They fought for Voldemort, didn't they?"

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

_You Know Who_

_He Who Must Not Be Named._

_The Dark Lord._

_Lord Voldemort._

It had been a long time since anyone had dared to call the Dark Lord by that name, once a symbolic act of resistance right until the tabu had put a stop to the practice. An exemplary strategy to sow fear in your opponents hearts, despite the fact Draco had always considered the name to be ridiculously heavy handed. Vol de Mort. Flight of death. Calling his followers the Death Eaters rather that something uplifting and confidence inspiring, effectively prioritising scare tactics over subtlety, was not exactly the most Slytherin approach.

Visibly unsettled by Draco's continued silence, Harry babbled on. "Hagrid told me to keep away from you after we had left Madame Malkins'. That all the Malfoys were Dark Wizards and not to be trusted... That my parents wouldn't have approved of me being friends with you."

_What the flying fuck, Potter?_

_It's one thing to be ignorant of societal norm but that's just plain stupidity..._

_On an entirely different note... that's some incredible level of emotional manipulation coming from a bumbling half-giant and a pretty believable reason why Harry didn't answer my letters._

"For the love of Merlin, Harry, please tell me you're not planning on saying anything of the sort to anyone else? Being one of the Dark Lord's followers is a punishable offence. People get thrown into Azkaban, the wizarding prison, for far less egregious crimes." Truth be told, Draco was not all that surprised that Harry would question the allegiance of the Malfoy family... Their political position and their ties to the Dark Arts were not exactly a secret. However the boy definitely needed to learn more than a few things about the fact that tone and phrasing made a monumental difference when handling such sensible topics.

_If he tries that with anyone else we are oh so royally screwed..._

"I'm not angry with you, Potter." Registering how the raven haired wizard had shrunken back into himself, Draco continued with far less vehemence, inwardly chastising himself for reacting so harshly. Balancing the necessity of demonstrating the seriousness of the situation with the fact that Harry was bound to interpret any sign of disapproval in a disproportionate manner, was even more of a challenge than he had predicted.

_Loosing whatever tentative trust I've already established would result in an unmitigated disaster!_

"Look, I know you're not exactly well versed in the arts of politics, but surely you must see that randomly accusing someone's family in such a way is by no means the best idea. What if your assumptions turn out to be wrong? Or even worse, what if they are right? Do you think they're just going to admit it to your face? After their families escaped prosecution for more than a decade? They'd be the greatest fools in existence..."

Brows furrowing together Harry asked, his disappointment rolling off of him in waves. "So you couldn't tell me the truth, even if you wanted to?"

_Well, at least not if I wasn't entirely indifferent towards Lucius fate... Not that the mighty Lord Malfoy would be all that bothered by the testimony of an eleven year old, anyway._

"I promised you answers, didn't I? As for telling the truth, I'll do my best to relay the facts as unbiased as possible, however, whether you decide to believe me is entirely up to you." After a short pause, all the while mulling over the right wording for the reprimand he had planned to issue, Draco settled on a more or less gentle reminder. Nothing but the sharp intensity of his steely grey eyes, betraying his utmost seriousness.

"I just want you to keep in mind that my openness on the subject is a deliberate decision on my part and not something you should expect. The older Slytherins in particular are bound to take exception with any direct inquiries into, what they rightfully consider to be, their personal affairs, so until you've learned to navigate a verbal sparring match I'd advise you to steer clear of the topic altogether."

"That sounds hardly unreasonable..."

"It isn't."

_Now for the difficult part..._

Shooting a wary glance at the dark-haired wizard at his side, Draco ventured, breathing in the air that tasted of wind and water. Of course he had known that the subject matter of the Malfoy family's connection to the Dark Lord would have come up eventually. Assuming otherwise would either have required more naïveté than he possessed at this point in time or amounted to wilful ignorance on his part.

He had a plan. Had chosen his following words with care and forethought. Still, there was a chance, small, but not as minuscule as he would have liked, that knowing of his family's involvement with the 'wrong' side of the war would instantly destroy whatever little trust Draco had managed to establish with the younger likeness of his former arch nemesis. A fragile house of cards which threatened to collapse at the slightest sign of disruption.

_Here goes nothing..._

"Britains politics during the twentieth century were, in fact still are, a convoluted mess to say the least, dominated by a rapid radicalisation of both the Dark and the Light in their fight for power which eventually culminated in the First Wizarding War." Tilting his head pensively, the Malfoy heir stated not without irony. "Granted, the name is obviously misleading, since it most definitely is not the first war that has been fought on British soil. Even the fight against Grindelwald, which was mostly concentrated on the continent resulted in scattered skirmishes all across the country."

"Grindelwald... That's the Dark wizard that Dumbledore defeated, didn't he?"

Surprised that Harry had already heard about the Dark Lord's much less successful predecessor, Draco nodded sharply. "A lesser known fact is that the two of them had personal history... One that would eventually lead to Dumbledore's lifelong fight against the Dark Arts."

Taking note of the young wizard's confusion, probably because Draco had not bothered to conceal the disapproval that had seeped into his voice, he explained with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "Magic is all about intent, Potter. Depending on the will of the caster a slicing spell can severe a cord just as well as it can cut through skin and bones. Our current definition of Dark magic is way too broad, not differentiating between truly dark curses like the Unforgivables and ancient rituals that are an integral part of pureblood culture."

"Pureblood culture?"

_Opening that particular can of flobberworms so soon wasn't really necessary, was it?_

"It's a term that's commonly used to describe the traditions surrounding old Wizarding bloodlines like my own... Securing their continued survival despite the steadily increasing influx of muggleborns was a major factor why most of the powerful families pledged themselves to the Dark Lord, well aside from furthering their personal interests."

Exhaling a small sigh, the blond wizard acknowledged, eyes fixated on his companion. "Hagrid is not wrong about my family, you know? Not entirely, anyway... Some pureblood families like the Weasleys and to a lesser extent the Potters embraced the increasing muggle influence on our society, but they were the notable exceptions."

"Others, like the Malfoys and the Blacks, who had dominated the political landscape of Wizarding Britain for many generations, pushed against the narrative that their magic was darker than others, which I can't exactly fault them for... Nonetheless, I'd be the first to point out that their methods left a lot to be desired, using the mantle of traditionalism to promote an agenda of pureblood supremacy. Claiming that purebloods were inherently better than all muggleborns, that they tainted the bloodlines and posed a danger to the magical community. My aunt and my father both fall into those categories."

_As well as many of the other Slytherin families..._

"I won't lie to you and say that supporting the Dark Lord was the right thing to do, nor that I condone the crimes that were committed in his name, but there was more nuance to the First Wizarding War than the stories about it might lead you to believe. It is always worth remembering that history is a story written by the winners, and by that virtue alone tends to paint a much clearer picture of right and wrong, good and evil than the harsh reality of war can ever hope to deliver. Human's are simply way too complex to fit into such neat categories."

Silence settled over the two boys, as Draco gave Harry as much time as he needed to absorb all the information he had just been confronted with. To his credit, and Draco's secret relief, he seemed to gravitate towards pensive contemplation rather than the blind, unreflected rage his adolescent counterpart had so often allowed to cloud his judgement.

Although, after everything I've learned about Harry's less than pleasant home-life and Dumbledore's ploy to keep him ignorant towards the in and outs of the magical world, I can't deny feeling considerably more sympathetic towards the original Potter's plight.

"Your aunt... she's in Azkaban, isn't she? That's why Parkinson brought her up at the feast?"

_Well, yes?_

_Why do you care?_

_That's so not the first question I'd have expected..._

"Yes..." Stretching the word, Draco did not disguise the grimace that darkened his face as the sound of Bella's crazed cackle reverberated in his mind, before he muttered dismissively. "Even though, I wouldn't exactly name aunt Bellatrix as a perfect example of moral ambiguity."

_Quite the opposite..._

"But she's part of your family." Harry swallowed thickly as he asked. "Why... Why are you being so nice to me, Draco? I ignored your letters and then yesterday... Shouldn't you, I dunno, be angry at me or something?"

The Chosen One's question had barely registered with the time-travelling Slytherin when Harry followed it up with a rushed reassurance. "Not that I'm complaining or anything. I'm not. It's just... You have more reason than most to dislike me and yet you are the one who welcomed me at the Slytherin table. You even stood up for me in front of your friends and are constantly trying to give me advice... I just, you know, want to understand why?"

_How awfully perceptive of you, Potter..._

"Trust me, Potter, there are people out there who are much more deserving of my anger." The Dark Lord, Dumbledore, Bellatrix, Lucius, to name a select few... Perhaps Weasley too, but right now he's just an eleven year old prat. "Regarding my reasons..." There was a thin note of bitterness interlaced with his voice as he replied vaguely. "Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about being defined by matters that are far beyond my immediate control."

Pushing his palms against the empty stone wall that marked the end of the hidden pathway, Slytherin's magic prickling beneath his fingertips, Draco added with a smirk. "Besides I actually like you well enough. You are quite different from what I had always imagined you to be. More grounded. Integrating you into Slytherin will make the House stronger in the long run, even if it might take them a while to realise as much."

_And a lot of background scheming on my part._

"You really think that they'll accept me?"

The childlike innocence that infused Harry's words actually elicited an amused chuckle from Draco, despite the fact that he sensed the hidden undercurrent of longing behind the boy's question. "Sure... And I wouldn't worry too much about Panse. That girl can't hold a grudge for the life of her."

Finally the door swung open revealing a slowly declining plateau that led directly to the shore of the Black Lake, whilst the first rays of sunlight painted the surface in soft hues of yellows and oranges. Somewhat sheepish at the amount of thought he had put into the gesture, Draco avoided Harry's eyes as he admitted. "Not many Slytherins know about this place and the few who do only visit rarely because it's such a long walk. I thought you might perhaps like to have a place where you can go whenever you need to get away from everything."

Somehow the quiet gratitude in Harry's voice was its own reward as the boy whispered.

'Thank you."

/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

"There, look."

"I never thought..."

"Next to Malfoy."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his scar?"

"I still can't believe he's in Slytherin."

"Do you think he's a dark wizard?"

Rather unsurprisingly whispers sparked in their wake as the first year Slytherins entered the Great Hall, causing Pansy to huff in annoyance as she leaned closer to Draco with an exasperated eye-roll. "I think I can see what you tried to tell us, yesterday. Give the other Houses another week and they'll outdo themselves with stories about Potter being the next Dark Lord or something that requires equal levels of mind-numbing stupidity."

_As depressing as it is that's probably a fairly accurate assessment._

"Don't tell me you are already warming up to him... I gave you at least two more weeks, Panse." A wry smile lurked around his lips as he allowed his gaze to wander aimlessly across the half full Great Hall. Luna was not here yet, her platinum hair conspicuously absent from the Gryffindor table. Blaise, the only familiar face that stood out amongst all the yellow ties, seemed to have settled into his new House with ease, already engaging one of the older girls in a lighthearted discussion.

Apparently the news of Harry Potter's arrival had taken some sweet time until they reached the former Slytherin, since he perked up abruptly, dark eyes seeking out Draco's gaze and gave him a friendly wave, one that the blond reciprocated in kind. Much to the surprise of Blaise's new Hufflepuff friend, who stared at him as if she had just seen a ghost, causing the Malfoy heir to wonder whether she was simply surprised to see a snake and a badger interact on such friendly terms or if her shocked reaction had more personal reasons.

"Prat." Playfully swatting his arm Pansy interrupted his thoughts, haughtily raising her chin in an unsettlingly convincing imitation of her mother's contemptuousness. "Don't press your luck, Draco. I don't understand why you... Hermione!"

 _Hermione_.

Letting out a delighted squeal, the witch sauntered over to the chestnut haired girl at the Ravenclaw table greeting her with her typical enthusiasm, whilst the remaining group of first year Slytherins settled into their seats. Their conversations quickly turning towards the personalised timetables Carina Rosier and Dorian Yaxley, the two seventh year prefects, had handed to them just a few minutes before the ten students had left for the Great Hall.

"Double potions with the Gryffindorks." Groaning Daphne stabbed her fork into the yolk of her fried egg, the metal scratching against the fine porcelain, her disdain evident. "What a positively delightful way to start our schooling... Gods I'd have even preferred to share some of our lessons with the Hufflepuffs rather than seeing Weasley's stupid face. Blaise ended up with the badgers and he's the virtual embodiment of charm and good humour."

_Can't argue with that!_

_Nonetheless, Blaise is probably relieved that he won't see all that much of Theo._

"Blaise's Sorting was rather unfortunate. Given the choice I'd take him over Weasley any day." Almost on cue Theodore moodily voiced his agreement with Daphne, olive eyes veering off in the direction of the Hufflepuff table, before he turned his attention to Draco, asking somewhat sceptically. "Are you really partnering up with the Lovegood girl? Not that I don't find the sentiment in general admirable, but sharing our most accomplished brewer with a rival House is bound to cost us some of our advantage in Potions."

_Granted, but..._

"Professor Snape and I actually discussed the matter yesterday, and we were in agreement that such an arrangement would make the most sense considering the extraordinary circumstances. Well, unless one of the Gryffindors shows an unexpected affinity for the art of potion-making, which I consider to be highly unlikely." Theo's, Daphne's and even Harry's reaction to his wry proclamation was almost comical, as they deflated at the prospect of a lost opportunity to gain an edge for the House Cup.

Personally, Draco could not care less for the worthless piece of metal, however, even putting the political implications aside, he still recalled his own eagerness as a first year. The wish to prove himself by doing his part so that Slytherin would secure the cup for a seventh year in a row. With that memory in mind he quickly stated, with a self-ironic lilt his friends were sure to mistake for sarcasm. "Of course my selfless offer of solidarity will be rewarded with five points per lesson, so there's that."

Just like that the faces around him brightened and Daphne daintily covered her mouth with her hand, obviously fighting back unladylike sniggers that were threatening to burst out of her. "Oh dear, I'm sure the lions will love that." Once the blond witch had sufficiently calmed down, rosiness blooming on her cheeks, she let her eyes roam across the other first years, obviously drawing the same conclusion Severus and Draco had the night before. "Then I call dips on Pansy... I suppose you want Theo and Potter to work together?"

_By no means an ideal solution, but the best I can come up with..._

"For now. If that's alright with you three?" Without a moment's hesitation they signalled their assent, though Draco could not help but notice the slight wariness entering Harry's expression. "I want the two groups to flank Crabbe and Goyle and keep an eye on them. Bulstrode and Davis know each other pretty well, which leaves Moon to deal with another one of the Gryffindors. I've already discussed it with her in and we agreed that she's going to take the cauldron in front of me. That way I can help her out if she needs me to."

"Gosh, Draco, are you actually discussing your seating arrangements in advance? Don't you think that's just a tad excessive?" Merlin and Morgana, that voice... Draco certainly did not need to look up in order to find out just who had decided to join them at the Slytherin table, her voice thick with incredulity and unwilling amusement, an all too smug Pansy at her side.

 _Draco_.

Contrary to this morning's nightmare where the sound of his name had only added a new layer of terror to the familiar maelstrom of guilt and desperation, the teasing quality of her voice sent small shivers of gratification down his spine. His heart skipping a whole number of beats as he turned his head in the direction of the former Gryffindor Princess, drinking in the sight of the only witch whose heart he had ever desired.

"Hermione."

To his astonishment the muggleborn witch actually flushed slightly under his scrutiny, the morning light dancing across her shimmering chestnut locks, the upper strands brushed back and woven into a thin braid whilst the rest was freely falling down her back. Subtle adjustments that lend some credence to their claim that Hermione was indeed a pureblood heiress.

_So beautiful!_

_But then, she always is._

_I wished..._

_In another universe she'd be mine._

_Mine to love. To protect. To cherish._

Carefully keeping his wistful thoughts from showing on his face, Draco inclined his head, a genuine smile toying with the corners of his mouth as he scooted to the side, gesturing invitingly at the two empty seats that had opened to his left.

"What an unexpected pleasure."

"As for your question... Sometimes unusual circumstances warrant an unusual attention to detail, don't you think?" Tilting his head, he raised one of his pale eyebrows expectantly at her, tempted to get lost within the flecks of molten gold that were glinting in the warm amber of her irises, before adding with a boyish smirk. "Of course this year's Ravenclaws seem much more... reasonable, which is why I wasn't planning to concern myself with the particulars for DADA and Charms."

_Well, except hopefully convincing you to sit with me..._

"What a rousing endorsement." Hermione quipped lightly, as she slipped into the free place at Draco's side, her eyes darting to Harry before she continued with feigned nonchalance. "At least you are not beginning your day with a double lesson History of Magic. From what I've gathered spending a few minutes in Professor Binns' presence is far more effective than any Sleeping Draught could ever hope to be."

_Did she just...?_

_Never thought I'd see the day!_

"And here I thought you would be positively riveted to learn every last piece of pointless trivia about the first Goblin Wars..." They shared a knowing look, the memories of tediously boring lessons replaying in their mind before Draco sighed inwardly. Bracing himself for an extremely awkward introduction, as he turned to the raven haired wizard who tried and failed miserably to merge into the background, studiously avoiding to look at the newest addition to their table. "Potter, let me introduce you to Hermione Granger, the..."

Draco's speech was cut short by the arrival of a dark owl, that landed right in front of a flabbergasted Harry, a thin package clenched tightly between her claws. A hooting sound rang through the air as she blustered her feathers, demanding a treat for her services, one she was not likely to receive from the ravenhaired Slytherin, if his overwhelmed expression was to be of any indication. Distractedly the Malfoy heir fished for the small package of owl treats they kept at the centre of the table, mind preoccupied with his own speculations regarding the source of the package.

Technically speaking, it was by no means uncommon to receive a present in the days that followed the Sorting, as many of the old families and those who acted as if they were, took it as an opportunity to express their approval for their child's Sorting. Sweet Salazar, Draco had already planned to organise one for Harry himself, seeing as the boy's relatives were unlikely to observe ancient Wizarding customs and anything that would set him even more apart from the other Slytherin students was to be avoided. However, as puzzling as the thought was, this had not been his doing.

_Dumbledore?_

_The Dark Lord?_

_Severus?_

_Luna?_

_Blaise?_

Hermione was out of the question, since her own surprise was palpable, her magic tensing as she eyed the thin packet with cautious interest, just like Draco ready to cast a counter curse as soon as such drastic measures became necessary. With forced levity the blond encouraged the boy, barely taking note of the two Malfoy owls that placed their own deliveries on the table. "Do go on, Potter, that one's obviously yours."

"But I... I don't..." Stopping himself mid-sentence Harry gingerly reached for the present, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he removed the wrapping, revealing an old edition of Magical Drafts and Potions in otherwise pristine condition. For a moment the entire group stared at the book with a mixture of bewilderment and mild apprehension until Hermione sucked in a deep breath, gaze swerving towards the High table as she quietly urged the boy.

"Open it, Harry."

_Lily Evans, June 1971._

As soon as the orphaned boy spotted the neat writing on the top of the first page, his eyes glazed over, gulping thickly as his fingers traced the words, before he began to turn the pages with shaky hands, revealing notes that were delicately written into the margins. Then, he suddenly appeared to remember where exactly he was sitting, clapping the book shut with a startling vehemence, his voice filled with pretend casualness although Draco could see his knuckles whitening around the hard cover.

"What did you get there, Malfoy?"

Pansy, Daphne and Theo, who, sensing that Harry needed a moment to compose himself, had all tactfully pretended to busy themselves with their own gifts, perked up at the mention of Draco's as of yet unopened present. Quite frankly, the blond wizard had a hard time to muster their level of enthusiasm... Of course the letter of his mother was much appreciated, even if she had likely refrained from entrusting anything too personal to the discretion of ink on parchment, but pretending to value a trinket from the man who had made their lives a living nightmare did not rank high on his list of enjoyable pastimes.

Creating a small diversion, he reached first for the easily recognisable box from Honeydukes, a larger version of the one his mother had sent him twice a week during the original timeline. A gesture he had initially dismissed as an obvious ploy to keep up appearances, the sentiment ringing hollow given the freezing formality of their day to day interactions, but now painted a fond smirk on his face as he handed the sweets to Pansy. "The promised Cauldron Cakes for the most gracious Lady."

Shooting Draco a warning glare the dark-haired witch accepted the sweets, beginning to hand each of their friends their favourite treats, while putting a handful of chocolate frogs aside... Merlin, he had already forgotten that he had used to collect those silly cards... Once his inner circle had gotten their share, he knew Pansy would also make sure that the other first years got some of the treats, giving him some time to open the dark green velvet pouch. Inside he found what appeared to be a hand-sized mirror, but what Draco knew to be an antique silver foe-glass, the Malfoy crest engraved into the shiny metal. 'Sanctimonia vincet semper' Purity will always conquer.

_Well, at least a foe-glass is somewhat useful, I suppose..._

Tendrils of Malfoy magic swirled through the air, trying to connect with Draco's own, but he quickly put it out of his reach, refusing to create the bond as long as anyone was watching. What if Quirrel made an appearance on the glass? Or even worse the Dark Lord in his true form? Explaining such an event away would have been an enormous challenge as Hermione seemed to realise that very moment, since she hurriedly reached for the last remaining package, holding it out towards him.

"You missed that one."

_Oh, that..._

Amusement and nervousness warred in Draco's chest as he shook his head slightly, his expression an unreadable mask as he stated without much emphasis. "I really don't think so." Feigning disinterest he ripped the parchment that contained his mother's letter, before sending a pointed look at the note that was attached to the dark paper wrapping, a name spelled out in elegantly curved letters.

"Hermione Jean Granger. The Brightest Witch of her Age."

Whiskey eyes widening with each perfectly enunciated syllable the former Gryffindor Princess read the words aloud, her tone that had initially bordered on disbelief quickly morphing into an unspoken question. Scepticism flaring across her features when the only response the Slytherin gave her was an innocent shrug, accompanied by a low whisper. "You'll like it, I promise."

_Well, at least if I know you as well as I think I do..._

Not that his choice of gift was particularly bold in any sense of the word. Draco would have even gone as far as calling it fairly uninspired, given Hermione's reputation as an unapologetic bookworm. However, in his defence, the lack of any personal touch was partly intentional, a necessary precaution in case yesterday's negotiations would not have yielded the desired result.

"Five Centuries of Hogwarts by Hestia Hornwood. Second Edition, 1515."

"Second edition... You've got to be kidding, right?

Theo's normally so composed voice was tinged with awe and a faint note of envy, cheeks flushed almost endearingly at the prospect of having such a priceless book about magical history within reach. His friend's undeniable passion for the subject had never ceased to amaze Draco, who had born Binn's tiresome monologues with dutiful stoicism but without developing any deeper interest of his own. "Sweet Salazar, Hermione... Your family must think rather highly of you to entrust you with that copy. I only skimmed through it once on a visit to Malfoy Manor. There is an entire section on magical architecture and the Founders..."

"Theo, dear, don't forget how to breathe. I'm afraid not everyone at this table shares your enthusiasm for Wizarding History." Daphne chided, her trilling voice brimming with mirth as she regarded the dark-brown cover of the book with an appreciative gleam. "Nevertheless it's a quite unusual gift. You can count yourself quite lucky, you know?" Distractedly playing with the bracelet she had already fastened around her wrist, light catching in the dark green stone, the blond witch added. "Seeing an old family openly encourage an interest in academics in one of their daughters, is exceedingly rare."

"Oh..." Gaze travelling from Daphne's wrist to the earrings Pansy had laid out in front of her and even further to Bulstrode, Moon and Davis who were gushing over their very own piece of jewellery, Hermione's expression morphed from noticeable apprehensiveness to one of quiet understanding. Sending a soft smile in Draco's direction that made him feel like a giddy thirteen year old boy, she stated. "All things considered, I think this book suits me much better. I was always quite fascinated by Hogwarts' past."

_No shit..._

_I distinctly remember an adorable bushy haired witch who could have recited Hogwarts: A History in her sleep!_

Unbidden a mental image of Hermione flitted through his mind, the Malfoy family jewels glittering against her skin, but he banished the thought as soon as it appeared. She would never accept him that way, never consider him as something more as an useful ally. Deluding himself into hoping for it would inevitably lead to even more pain and heartbreak, would only worsen is suffering when she rejected him.

_She'll always be too good for me..._

Covering his dangerous train of thought with a halfhearted smirk, the Malfoy heir inclined his head, surreptitiously rearranging his posture to create some much needed space between them. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind for any future references."

To Draco's relief the rest of the meal did not last much longer, the excitement of the initiation presents and the first day of classes proving to be less than favourable for their collective appetites. They parted ways with Hermione right outside the Great Hall, making their way down to the dungeons.

However, they had not even made it halfway down the stairs that led to the Potions classroom, when they practically stumbled over Neville Longbottom, Luna’s arm interlaced with his. Tension hung thickly in the air, as the chubby boy stared at the group with an expression of dawning horror, whilst the Slytherins were unsure how to react in the presence of the almost ethereal looking girl with her empty eyes.

_Sweet Salazar, let's not hope an eleven year old Neville Longbottom is the best protection Gryffindor has to offer her._

_Not that she needs it, but still..._

"Merry meet Lovegood. Longbottom."

"Malfoy."

Startled by the exchange Draco's cousin straightened up, her milky white eyes darting in his general direction, not quite settling on him as she stared into emptiness. Her youthful voice airy, almost detached as she uttered, completely unperturbed by the deathly silence her words invoked.

"Oh... You are Draco, aren't you? I dream of you sometimes, cousin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another Luna cliffhanger... I would feel guilty, but I wanted the Potion’s class chapter to centre around the fallout of this very moment so it is somewhat fitting... ;)
> 
> Upcoming: Potions, DADA and Charms, although I’m not sure I can fit all of them into a single chapter... The timetable I use is my own creation and not very canon accurate. Mainly because I think that the one in canon doesn’t make all that much sense ;)


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